Far From Normal
by InoFan
Summary: 2 5/5 2. First person POV for Duo Maxwell. Duo navigates the confinements of being undercover in a school, his interactions with Heero, and his very strange interactions with Wufei.
1. Chapter 1

**Author Notes: This is a very, very old story. I think it's from 2000 or somewhere in there. It's got a lot of the clichés roaming in the fan world of GW at that particular time. But I really enjoyed writing it and while I'm sure it could use a lot of cleaning up I think I'll still share it. **

_"You  
You're my mask  
You're my cover, my shelter  
You  
You're my mask  
You're the one who's blamed  
Do  
Do my work  
Do my dirty work, scapegoat  
Do  
Do my deeds  
You're the one who's shamed"  
_~"Sad But True" Metallica

Sometimes, I can stand in a single moment and see forever. Just for that short time, everything jives, everything is perfect. I don't have any questions, because I don't need any answers. The world around me moves at my pace, a shimmering wave of bright colors that mold and conform to me. All I can feel is this wild sense of euphoria, like nothing could touch me, like nothing can reach out and shatter the bubble I've encased myself in. And this freedom rocks me back on my heels, leaving me breathless and flying high.

Yep, right up until the LSD wears off.

No, wait, don't look at me like that. I'm not serious. Who, me, serious? Sorry, you're looking at the wrong guy. If you want serious, I'm sure one of the others would be happy to oblige. A couple of them wear it like it's some kind of freakin' badge. But anyway, I was going to say that I'm pretty much always like this. You'll have to get used to my off-color humor. And if not, you're always welcome to go away.

Seriously, (didn't I just say I was never serious?) that feeling I was talking about there, like sex, it doesn't last. Whoops, there I go again. Not that I would know, right? Oh, I can read your thoughts. You're thinking, 'a kid like him, from the streets, never had sex'? Well, suspend your belief please, because it's true. While I may not be a virgin where most things are concerned, I'm one where it counts. Why, you ask? Because life has taken a lot from me and given me a lot of shit in return, so I won't give this willingly. Hey, I'm human, and I'm certainly not made of Gundanium, but call me sentimental if I say I'm waiting.

Waiting for what. Now there's a loaded question. I suppose I'll have to be cliché and say that I'm waiting for it to feel right. Not only that, but you've only got one life to live, and it's awfuly short. I want my first sexual experience to be something I'm not ashamed to remember. Not something I did in the frenzy of the moment because my 15 year old hormones had taken the reins and left me somewhere in the dust, sitting on my ass and contemplating things in a daze.

There it is. That sound I'm waiting for. The door shuts behind me with a sharp click, and I find my eyes drawn to the clock. I've been in here for over an hour, cooped in this tiny room, crammed in with bunk beds, and two lousy dressers slammed side by side. Then that damn computer desk sits near the bathroom and makes it difficult to get the door open all the way, since for some reason unknown to me they decided it should open out instead of in.

I've got papers scattered all around me from where I lay on my bunk, and I'm hoping it will look like I accomplished something. Which, of course, I didn't. How can you concentrate when the window is open and the sun it shooting through it, calling for you to abandon the torture that is homework and go outside? Besides, it's not as if I need to work that hard. I've got many flaws, a couple of which being the fact I think I'm the God of Death and I rip Mobile Suits in half for therapy, but one thing I'm not is stupid. I guess someone thought I had enough bad shit happen, the least they could do when they were passing out my fate was give me a brain.

Not that any of that is going to matter to my roommate. He's just going to take one look at the title of the book lying tucked halfway beneath my body and think I was slacking. That it's the truth is beside the point. He seems to think that we need to get good grades to keep from drawing attention to ourselves. Well, yeah, all well and good, really, but if we try _too_ hard, they're going to notice us too. Hell, we probably stand out like sore thumbs anyway. I mean, who else has a three foot long braid and looks like their face was carved in stone? That last one was directed at my roommate, by the way, not me.

No, you'll rarely see me in anything less than a smile. I'm the cheerful one, you know. I laugh, I crack jokes, and I'm reckless in battle. But anyway, it's simply one of my masks. I wear it to hide what I hold inside. It cracks now and then. Little hairline fractures that I can patch up again with a few careless words and another bright smile. Not that he would notice, anyhow. He never sees anything, those intense eyes of his that stare at you as if they can pierce skin and touch your heart, they don't see anything except what they want to see. Missions, and laptop computers, and Gundams.

I suppose it's probably about time I told you who __he__ was. I was just getting a big kick out of being obscure. So sue me. You'll get some loose change, a wad of chewed bubblegum, and pocket lint. I'm sure your imagination could conjure up something to do with that treasure. But believe me, you're better off without.

His name is Heero Yuy. Yes, Mr. Heero 'eats-nails-for-breakfast' Yuy, Mr. Heero 'my-spandex-are-way-too-tight' Yuy. Okay, enough of this. While it's fun and feeds my inner child, I can feel his eyes burning into the back of my head and I swear it's almost as if he can read thoughts. And his words, should that be one of his many talents, would run along the lines of 'shut up, Duo'. Yes, he loves saying that to me. I think my constant running of the mouth gets to him.

Time to notice him. I toss my braid and offer him a smile to rival the sun.

"Hey Heero, how'd the exam go?" I ask, blowing an enormous bubble soon after so that I may pop it and receive the immense joy of drawing his eyes to my lips for one brief moment, even if it's a moment spent in irritation.

"I don't know. I haven't gotten it back yet," he answers, in that lovely toneless way of his. If he showed an ounce of emotion, I think I'd have to eat my braid.

I nod, trying to scoot over so that I can cover the book I had been reading for recreation. But he's too fast. I swear the guy has more than one set of eyes. Or maybe he has built in radar like Wing Gundam does. I seriously would not be surprised. Who knows what Dr. J thought was more than appropriate in the process of the making of the ultimate soldier. Hell, for all I know, Heero __is__ made of Gundanium. On second thought, I have to withdraw that observation from the court. I just got a nice glimpse of his backside as he was turning, and I somehow don't think Gundanium could create curves like that.

"Duo," he says, making my name sound like a curse.

"Yes?" I prompt, all innocence, when he doesn't continue.

"What did you accomplish today?"

I roll my eyes. "Plenty. I was just taking a break, okay? I can't study all friggin' day!"

He holds up the book, one eyebrow raised ever so slightly. Okay, so it was more like a comic book...

I sigh, drawing the sound out longer than was necessary. "C'mon, Heero. Don't be a slave driver. We can't all be a walking computer like you."

He just stares at me, looking even less amused than usual, if that is at all possible. I swear, there are moments I just want to leap on him and plant a nice big kiss on those disapproving lips to see if I can get a reaction out of him, if I can change his expression just the slightest bit. But I'd probably just find myself eating about six inches of cold metal. And without ketchup and salt, that would taste pretty damn bad.

It's not like I can tell what he's thinking anyway. He probably doesn't have thoughts even vaguely resembling sexual fantasies. Unless the word 'mission' is connected somehow, then it just doesn't warrant Heero Yuy's attention. I mean, hell, I'm lucky if I get spared a single glance, and anything beyond his customary 'hn'. It takes a lot of effort on my part, anyway, and there are days I doubt he's worth it.

He throws the book back at me, somehow managing to land it onto the bed without causing me any bodily harm. Got to admire that control of his.

"Just don't screw up," he orders, turning away so that he can miss my lovely expression as he grabs some clothing from his dresser and walks into the bathroom.

You know, it just occurred to me I didn't even tell you who I am. I go by Duo Maxwell. That's not my real name, but it doesn't really matter considering I don't even know what my _real_ name is. Both the first and last were given to me by people that meant more to me than anything in this world, and that's enough. I might tell you about them later, but right now I want to ruminate on my roommate some more. I love torturing myself, you see.

I'm not sure exactly how long we've been fighting together, or when it was exactly I started looking at Heero differently. I don't know why him, of all the Gundam pilots either. I mean, even Wufei's more sociable than he is. But I'm pretty certain Quatre and Trowa have something going on there, and if not yet, they will soon. No, it just had to be Heero, who is about as much fun as a rock is. Hell, a rock shows more emotion than he does. And yet, I still like him. Go figure.

I've never noticed guys this way until Heero. I've had a few girlfriends, but someone like me can't afford to get too close to anyone. Maybe that's why I like Heero. He won't __let__ me get close. Well, whatever the case, I suppose I should be bothered by all this. I mean, boys don't like boys. But then, I'm not exactly normal, so it doesn't really come as any surprise that I couldn't like girls like the other half of my sex, I had to like guys instead. No, correct that, not __guys__, just Heero.

It's not like this little one-sided attraction is going to bear fruit anyway. Heero barely registers my existence unless I'm practically in his face. And then, he pretty much tells me to 'screw off' in only that way Heero can. With just a look. I think I should be writing all this down, or taking lessons or something. I could use this stuff. The next time one of those overzealous girls in gym class grabs my ass I can shoot her a patented 'Heero Yuy glare'.

I have to smile at that. I can be just as frightening. I don't need the Heero's help. Sometimes, I don't even recognize myself when Duo Maxwell fades away and Shinigami takes control. But I need him. He kills for me so I don't have to. The God of Death. He takes lives without second thought, and when he goes, so does the guilt. This way, Duo Maxwell can look at his face in the mirror every morning while he brushes his teeth. And what a youthful, innocent face that is.

Yeah, innocent my ass. I was born an adult. Because you see, I can't remember a time when I wasn't looking over my shoulder. I've lived on the streets, taking life one day at a time because I didn't have the luxury of looking to the future. Hell, I was lucky if I __had__ a future. But no, life has pretty much killed everyone that mattered to me, yet it didn't take me. Death touches everything I touch, follows me wherever I go, but it never make it easy by taking me too.

Solo... Sister Helen... Father Maxwell... all dead. The first, he gave me a family. We were a screwed up bunch of kids, but we were a family. Disease took him away and I wasn't fast enough to do anything about it. That's me, always one step behind Death. The others, they gave me my second family, taught me about their worthless God of Life. Yeah, I say worthless. Don't look at me like I'm an atheist. I'm not. I just choose to believe in the God of Death, because he's all I've ever known. He's me, you see. Anyone that sees me goes straight to hell.

They died too. Burned, and crushed, and robbed of their lives in the ruins of their church, their haven from the outside world. I thought it was a haven, you know. I was clean there, and for the first time, my belly was full and I had a soft bed to sleep in every night. Sister Helen braided my hair, gave me clothes, and Father Maxwell, he gave me this cross I wear. He said it was a talisman. Maybe it is? After all, the God of Death never takes me. Only takes everyone around me.

Sometimes, when I dream, I see her face again. Sister Helen's. She's looking up at me, and despite her pain, she smiles. She smiles just for me, to make me feel better, to ease my ache. And I live her death again. I'm holding her in my arms, her blood is seeping into my clothing, staining my hands, and she's so warm. It isn't right for someone to die when they still feel so alive. But she does. She dies thinking of someone other than herself. And he accepts her. Her worthless God of Life accepts her when it should have been me.

Shit. There I went and got serious on you, didn't I? Yeah, it still hurts. Like the blade of a dull knife drug slowly across your skin. Or a razor blade. What, you think I don't know what that feels like? Yeah, I tried killing myself once. I still have the scars. I think that was the moment I decided to live harder, to live more, to use my masks. If Death wasn't taking me, then I was going to spit in its face. I was going to wade through all this shit with my metaphorical hip boots and laugh and laugh, until my face was frozen in a perpetual grin.

All right. I can see we're going to have to focus on this whole suicide thing again. You're thinking, 'how can someone so bent on living try to kill himself'? Hey, everyone reaches their limit. When the Federation destroyed the church, when I found it smoldering, bodies amid the ashes, twisted and scattered like grotesque pieces of art, I snapped. These were the people I had spent every day of my life with for the last few years. These people, who were now nothing more than soot drifting on the wind.

God, the guilt ate me up. It was a living monster, tearing my up, pounding against the inside of my skull. I had to escape that, so I took the cowardly route. I locked myself in a public bathroom and stared at the nice shiny blades for an hour. I remember thinking that shooting myself would be easier. But I needed to suffer. Still, in the end, I couldn't do it. I wrapped my wrists up in paper towels, watched in mute fascination as they stained crimson from my blood, and told Death to go fuck itself. It couldn't have me.

The bathroom door opens.

Heero comes out and stares directly at me. I don't have time to put my mask back on. For one single moment, he gets a good look at the Duo behind the smiles. And I think it rattles him. His eyes widen just a fraction, and his hand stays on the knob, his body frozen, unmoving. I have to revel in having his undivided attention before literally throwing my body over the side of the bed and bouncing up, that cheerful grin back in place as I toss my braid around like a living rope.

I'd pretend that it didn't bother me, having him witness me so naked, so without defense. Instead, I'd concentrate on the fact that he had thrown on his usual tank top and spandex. I'd admire him as he made his way over to the computer, that contained, lean grace of his, the way he had of moving without really moving at all. For Heero, it's all about control. And he's very good at it.

"Duo."

I freeze.

"Finish studying."

I relax, but I can't help but stick my tongue out at his back. He begins typing, that familiar click of the keys filling the room with their ritualistic, annoying music as Heero checks it for any missions that might have come in during our fun-filled day in class. I wish he'd let me turn the damn radio on...

"Say 'hi' to Dr. J for me," I quip, earning silence for a reply.

I roll my eyes again. Sometimes I just want to grab a hold of him and shake the hell out of him. But he'd probably crush a few bones, and I need said bones to pilot Deathscythe. Ah, my Gundam. Now there's a safe topic. I'll just throw myself back on the bed here and think about him for a bit, while ignoring the rock sitting over there in the chair masquerading as one of the human race.

Deathscythe is beautiful. A massive, 7.2 ton machine of Gundamium alloy with a soul. Yes, you heard right. Deathscythe has a soul. You might find it odd I think that, but then, what do you expect from a guy that calls himself the God of Death? Besides, I already told you I was far from normal, and I'm also fairly certain I'm not the only one that feels this way. Quatre talks to Sandrock, and Wufei almost worships his Nataku like a God. Now if you want something to be scared about, be scared about _that_.

So what does that say of Heero and Trowa, who look to their machines as just that, machines? Maybe, their the sanest ones of us all. After all, they're both focused on their missions, and they don't let anything else get in the way. They haven't gotten attached to their Gundams. I bet Trowa wouldn't care if I asked him to take Heavyarms out for a spin. But ask me to even sit in Deathscythe's cockpit and I'll make you sign your life over to me first.

I have to stand in awe of something with his size, and marvel that someone as scrawny and insignificant as me can control him. With that in mind, I have to have respect for him as well. From that respect came a connection, and the feeling that in more than one instance Deathscythe has talked to me. Not in words, but feelings.

My Gundam is a tool of war. Created and developed for the express purpose of taking lives. But I don't look at him that way. He's a friend, a partner. We depend on each other, and for me, that's saying a lot. I don't depend on anyone. I learned a long time ago that the surest bet is to depend on myself first and anyone else after.

Well, while I'm still thinking about this, I suppose I ought to clarify something so that you don't get the wrong impression. I don't hate any of the other Gundam pilots, and while I like to tease Wufei, I have a lot of respect for him. He can be downright nasty and anti-social, but he can also be a great guy. He's holding up under a lot pressure, and coping the best way he can. I don't know the details of what drives him, but I can recognize the signs. I've been there before, after all.

You can't help but like Quatre. He's kind and generous and always there when you need someone. He seems fragile, because he's just got that delicate build and this way of carrying himself that's a part of being an heir. But I think people underestimate him. There's a great deal of quiet strength in him that he'd need to be able to do what we do. Besides that, I don't belive he's as innocent as he seems. Those smiling blue eyes of his have seen things like the rest of us, and he's lived with that in his own way.

Trowa. Sometimes I don't know about him. He's so silent. And I'm not just talking about his lack of words. Everything about Trowa is quiet, even his eyes. He moves with a grace of a performer, but behind that grace I know there lurks a soldier much like Heero. Yet, I've seen him be very gentle. I've seen him kill in battle with the same silent focus, and I've seen him soften almost imperceptibly when Quatre is around. Sometimes I wonder who the real Trowa is, what he's really like behind his mask. But Quatre seems to understand him, so maybe that's enough.

Great. Now we're back to Heero again. There are moments I'm not even sure he's human. He just keeps going, like that damned annoying Energizer Bunny who makes me want to shoot the TV screen every time I see one of those commercials. He's so focused on his missions, because I really think he believes that is all there is for him. It's obvious he doesn't hold his own life in much regard, but he cherishes the lives of everyone else. Maybe that's one of the reasons I like him so damn much? He _is_ perfection. Everything he touches turns to gold. While everything I touch withers, and dies.

There it is. The five of us. Those wickedly famous Gundam boys. Wreaking havoc on OZ and causing much distress and destruction wherever we roam. We're all in this for the colonies, and for our own reasons. It's a long, bleak road, with no end in sight and no real, clear goal. We want to destroy the Alliance and OZ, to get them out of the colonies, without actually involving the colonies. How naive is that, anyhow? It's not like we managed to keep our stellar foes in the dark. Eventually, they traced us back to the colonies. And all hell broke lose. And Heero self-destructed, leaving all of us but Trowa to think he was dead. But this is a topic for another day.

Shit. How ironic is this? I'm thinking about toppling a strong, political force, when tomorrow morning I've got something as simple and mundane as midterms to worry about. And the funny thing is, I'm hating and dreading the tests more. With that in mind, I'm probably am insane. I mean, it's not like the exams are going to kill me. There's always a chance I'll die in battle. But hell, I'd rather be in Deathscythe facing down a whole boatload of Leos than sitting behind a desk, employing my wit on such things as the genius of Dickens, Orwell, Tolstoy, Shakespeare, and many other fine literary greats.

There's more after that as well. Algebra, history, science, and even that computer class that's teaching me in a year what Heero could probably show me in a day. For all I know, the physical education teacher could probably get a wild hair and come up with some physical exam. Either way, I've got to do well enough to keep Heero happy, and just below what might cause the teachers to notice me. I float somewhere in the middle, and all they'll see in me is the cheerful student who talks too much and probably lets his mind wander during class. Which, while there is a grain of truth in all that, is far more normal than I really am.

I think I just hit the height of boredom. I'm getting tired of staring at Spandex boy's back and thinking far more than is prudent. Maybe I'll get up and wander down the hall. I can always bug Wufei or Quatre or even Trowa if I start getting desperate for real conversation. On that line of thought, I realize I find it pretty damn funny we always get paired up with the same roommates, while Wufei gets to bunk alone at every school we go to. Is that fate blowing the proverbial horn or what?

"You wish," I mutter to myself, swinging my legs over the side of the bed.

I'm still dressed in our school uniform. A pair of dark blue pants and a white dress shirt, with some stupid thing that's a cross between a fringe and bow tie. I threw mine off the minute I got in the room and I think it's lying somewhere on the floor. Maybe even under the desk. Well if it is, Heero'll probably find it and tell me not to be so careless with it. And that would be about it. Did I mention Heero doesn't talk much? Yeah, now there's the understatement of the year.

Scooting so that I can flop on my stomach, I lower my head over the side of the bed and peer under. As is my luck, my shoes are lying against the wall. I shouldn't have thrown them under the bed so hard when I came in. I believe I was still seething over Heero's remark about how I was an irresponsible pig. Well, not quite in those words, but you get the gist of it. Basically, I overslept this morning and I had to rush around in the bathroom. A ten-second shower, and a half-assed job of brushing my teeth always leaves me a bit put off. Especially considering I wouldn't get to eat breakfast or drink any coffee.

Heero __could__ have woken me up. But no, he had to be his usual wonderful self and teach me a lesson about the value of setting your alarm clock correctly, or being able to hear your roommate's go off in the midst of deep, REM sleep. I swear, there are moments I could just give into my childish tendencies and flash him a one-finger salute.

But anyway, I'm getting off track. What Heero was having such a fit over, was the fact that there were a couple of stray hairs in the bathroom sink. Oh yeah, and I forgot to screw the lid back on the toothpaste. And my nightclothes were still lying on the floor. But I mean, come on! I was in a hurry. Does one little mess automatically make me the laziest slob on the face of the planet? Apparently so.

Maybe if I lean over just a bit farther, I can reach them. What the hell. Might as well try. I realize my mistake just as soon as I lose my grip on the edge and fall over on my head first, back and butt coming next. The sound of it echoes like a gunshot in the silence of the room. How nice. How embarrassing. Rather than move, I lay where I am for a few minutes, more trying to regain my pride than my breath.

I'm beyond surprised when the typing stops. I didn't think he'd notice. I'm even more stunned when he speaks.

"Duo, what are you doing?"

I close my eyes. "Getting my shoes."

A pause. Then, "Well, do it more quietly."

Yes, Heero, I'm fine. No, Heero, I don't need medical attention. It's just a little bump. I'll live. But your concern is really appreciated.

God, I suck. I'm the biggest moron alive.

With a stifled sigh, I roll over on my side and then my stomach, scooting across the wooden floor like a caterpillar. I scrunch myself up and reach back as far as I can, my butt hitting against the edge of the bed as it rises in the air, and my face pressing into the floor so that I'm certain it'll bear an imprint when I finally get these damn shoes. Belatedly, I wonder if Heero would even pay attention to my ass as it wiggles in the air, the only visible thing sticking out from beneath the bed besides my feet.

Victory. My hands close over the offending shoes, and I pull them out with me as I go, somehow managing to defy the laws of clumsiness and hit my head on the bed on the way back up. Falling hard on my behind, I rub at my scalp, scowling darkly at my shoes, as if I've really got what it takes to incinerate them on the spot. I haven't quite reached Heero's status just yet.

Tugging the shoes on, I lace them up, hating them more with every jerk of the string. Finally, giving my braid a short tug, succeeding in only causing pain to flare up in my skull again, I rise to my feet with more grace than I'm given credit for and look toward Heero again.

"Hey, Heero, I'm going out. Going to see what the others are up to."

The lovely sound of typing.

"Hn."

I roll my eyes. I do that a lot you know. It's a very satisfying form of sarcasm.

Spinning in a fit of temper so that my braid snaps in the air, a very silly but gratifying move, I stalk across the floor and jerk open the door. Seconds away from leaving, Heero says something again.

"Did you finish studying?"

"You know, Heero," I tell him, as I settle into the doorjamb with a smirk, "you'd think you wanted me to pass these exams more than I did. I didn't know you cared."

"It's necessary so that you don't draw attention to yourself."

Spare me. "Yes, I know, we've been over this dozens of times."

"Then listen," he returns, with just the barest hint of impatience. I love it when I can needle him just a bit.

"I'll be fine. I'll pass. The world will rejoice, and our instructors will continue to be oblivious. Now, don't wait up," I add cheekily, wishing he actually cared enough to do just that.

I receive no answer, whether it be negative or affirmative, so I close the door behind me, slip my hands into my pockets to contain them, and continue on my merry way.


	2. Chapter 2

The hall is quiet and empty. I attribute it to a last minute study frenzy. In any case, as I walk along, my footsteps are abnormally loud each time my heels strike the ground. The sounds bounce from the dark brown walls (how depressing is that color when it's everywhere? It's like living in a tomb...) and seem to resound endlessly, as if someone was standing at the end of the hall, hitting them back at me with a ping pong paddle. It reminds me of one of those horror movies I've stayed up late to watch. They never did frighten me. I suppose it's because the demons and ghouls in it weren't real and could never hope to compare to my own personal demons and ghouls.

Sometimes I have to wonder what it must be like to have a life as simple as these kids here. They really do only have to worry about exams and grades and pleasing their parents. I haven't got any parents to worry about, and I'm more concerned with kicking OZ's ass than I am anything else. Still, it's not as if my life has ever been all peachy. I doubt it ever will be. Maybe I like it that way. And maybe I hate it. I don't suppose it really matters which. I'm stuck with it and I'll just have to make the best of it Besides, I'd rather be doing something than nothing.

Yeah, that's me, Duo Maxwell, action man. I've always got to be in the big middle of everything. I haven't decided yet whether that's because I hate feeling left out or just because I'm nosy as all hell. Maybe it's both. And maybe it's also because I crave the human contact. I like being around people. I just hate losing people. A dumb thing to say, huh? It's not like I can prevent that, and it's not like I'm the only one. But it feels like it sometimes. It feels like I'm standing in the middle of nowhere, even though there are people all around me. None of them can see me, the real me, and none of them even care to try.

See though, this is where it gets sticky. I'm a Gundam pilot. Getting noticed is a bad thing. No, I should rephrase that. Getting noticed isn't the bad thing necessarily. It's letting anyone get close enough to discover our secrets. Do you know how annoying it is to decline invitations because I can't risk letting my real identity surface? Okay, so maybe I'm just being a bit melodramatic here. (Everyone' entitled to it now and then.) I don't mind declining that badly. While it might be nice to go out and raise hell every now and then, I don't have a connection with those people like I do the other Gundam pilots.

I think people have started to notice how we cluster together into one tightly knit group. Luckily for us, no one finds that odd. They probably just figured we drifted together the same way most people do while making friends. Though __some__ have to wonder why. I mean, the majority of us is about as friendly as a man eating piranha. Heero, Trowa, and Wufei, the silent, stoic ones. I think the girls love them. Who wouldn't? Silly teenage girls with overactive hormones like the dark, mysterious types. Hell, silly teenage boys with overactive hormones like the dark, mysterious types. I should know. I'm one of them.

Now I'm laughing. That whole piranha bit conjured up this image of our serious boys chomping off fingers. While I could see Heero doing that if he thought it would save his ass, I don't think Wufei would stoop so low, and Trowa ... well let's just say I can't picture Trowa doing that. Quatre, I don't know. Sometimes that boy can surprise me. As for me, I'd rather be eating Heero's gun sans ketchup and salt.

A glint catches my eye, and I look up to see the door to Quatre and Trowa's room open and close. Quatre himself steps out, books tucked under his arms, and a distant, half-serious expression on his face, as if he were contemplating the fate of the world or something. With him, it's hard to tell. Quatre sometimes takes on more than is necessary, and is often what has pulled us all together when we get on each other's nerves (Or when __I__ do, as I'm often told I'm beyond annoying. Nothing like being told your a nuisance to make a guy's day, huh?).

In any case, I haven't figured out quite yet why he does it. I wonder sometimes if he's worried we'll think less of him because of where he comes from. The Winner family you know, with all that fine breeding and money. Which is absolutely ridiculous, because as far as I'm concerned, Quatre's one of us. He gave up everything he had to do this, so if that isn't love for his family and the colonies, I don't know what is. I have to wonder too, if I would have been so strong, and so dedicated. Because, you see, I didn't give up anything to do this. I've always had nothing.

I lift my hand in greeting, calling out, "Hey, Quatre!"

He blinks once, as if needing to clear his thoughts, and looks toward me. When he notices who it is, he smiles, changing directions, his steps quick, and light, but with a purpose behind them that makes him a good Gundam pilot. Being one goes against the Winner family wish for pacifism, and against Quatre's hatred for killing, and yet he still does it. Some might say that's hypocritical, but I call it strength. It takes a lot to give up your ideals and your own personal feelings for a bigger cause. It makes my reasons pale in comparison and I wonder if they're good enough.

He stops a few feet away from me, smiling that smile of his that I swear can light up an entire room. Quatre puts all his feelings into what he does, and he really is beautiful because of it. If I wasn't so stuck on Heero, I might notice that in a different way. But, unfortunately or not, I am. Besides, I'm fairly certain Trowa would lose that silent mask of his and deck me if I ever looked at Quatre the wrong way. And if he didn't, then I say there's something wrong with that boy's eyes.

"Hello, Duo," Quatre says, "I was just going to the library."

I wrinkle my face up in my best imitation of disgust. "More studying?"

He nods, a half-smile forming again. "Trowa needs a book. You should be studying too, you know."

I do my favorite move again. I roll my eyes. "I __have__ been studying, and frankly, I'm sick of it. If I never seen the inside of a book again, I'll be thrilled."

Quatre shakes his head, and the smile fades, as he looks at me. "It's something normal."

I match his expression. He's right there. This is about as normal as our life gets. If you can count leaving at all hours of the night for missions...

"Yeah... I guess you're right," I say, then, wanting to change the subject because serious just isn't supposed to be my style, and I don't really want to discuss just how un-normal we are right now, I add, "How is Trowa?"

Blonde brows furrow slightly and he regards me with a puzzled expression. "You just saw Trowa last class."

I smile at him, a sly, knowing smile. "No, I mean, how __is__ Trowa?"

I think he finally gets it, because he colors slightly, and scolds me. "Duo!"

I laugh.

Then, surprising me, he asks, "How __is__ Heero?"

How Quatre can manage to look both conniving and innocent at the same time is beyond me.

"How should I know? Why don't you ask his computer," I add, not really caring if my bitterness is coating that statement.

He shifts his books to the other arm. "I never thought I'd see the day someone was jealous of a computer."

"Why not? It gets more of his attention than I do. I don't even know why I bother sometimes. Half the time he doesn't even realize I exist."

"We do foolish things for love," Quatre replies, and I catch a pensive, wistful note in his tone before he smiles again to cover it. See? Didn't I tell you Quatre had his own mask? Well maybe I didn't say it quite like that, but I did say there's more to the Sandrock pilot than people give him credit for.

Apparently, not all was well in paradise. My guess that things had yet to pick up between Quatre and Trowa was dead on. There really is something wrong with that boy's eyes...

I snort. "Love? Who said anything about love?"

Quatre inclines his head, eyeing me quizzically, but he says nothing.

No, really, who said anything about love? I said I __liked__ Heero, was attracted to him. That's a far cry from love. That requires complete trust, total commitment, and the whole nine yards. I'm not certain I'm ready to give that to someone. Frankly, the thought of love scares me. Yeah, hard to believe the God of Death is scared of something. But it seems everything I love dies. Morbid, maybe. Melodramatic again, possibly. Funny... I actually hadn't considered love. Heero barely notices me, I seriously doubt love would ever enter the equation.

This is far more serious than I wanted to get while taking a break from studying. Time to steer the conversation around to something a bit more safe.

"Anyway, Quatre-man," I say, breaking the silence, "if you see any pre-colony history books, will you pick them up for me?"

He nods. " Sure, Duo. I'll see you later then?"

I grin. "You bet. Thanks."

Quatre offers me another of his sweet smiles, the kind that makes people mistake him for an easy target. I'll never forget the look on that last guy's face the time he thought tripping Quatre in the lunch room was an amusing way to impress his friends. Not after the Sandrock pilot got calmly up, dusted off the knees of his pants, and then hauled back and hit him square in the face. There was plenty of blood, an interesting shocked silence, and a mess of food on the floor that Quatre cleaned up afterward with the same detached air he had gotten to his feet with.

Reflecting on that improves my mood greatly. Enough that I'm now walking with a huge grin and contemplating a tune to whistle. I may hate it when people get one up on me, or confound the image I hold of them, but I have to get a big kick out of it when its done with style. Especially when I'm not the one being made to look like a giant ass. Which, to my chagrin, isn't often enough. I think people love making my life interesting. Or I should say Heero. He criticizes me enough for a whole army. Believe me, his constructive comments so thrill me.

As I round the corner, the sight which greets me is not a pleasant one. If I was smart, I would turn around and walk the other way. But I've never been accused of possessing much intelligence, so why start now? I mean, I don't want to ruin my image. Besides, they've spotted me, so it's a little too late. Any movement in the opposite direction would be considered cowardice, and there's no way in hell I'm giving them even an inch. I make my way toward them instead, trying to forget that they're ten inches taller than me, and out weight me by at least a hundred pounds. And that isn't between them either.

Dumb and dumber. They harp on me partly because I'm new here, and mostly because I've got a braid. They think it gives them a license to call me girly-boy and do things like take my gym clothes from my locker and replace them with dresses. Too bad I spoiled their fun by wearing the dress and entertaining the gym class. I got sent to the principle's office, the counselor's in the event that something was wrong with me (if they only knew the half of what I'd seen), and then got my ass chewed by Heero. But it was worth it to spoil the idiot twins fun.

I have to smirk as I wonder what they'd think of me should they know I go for guys. I'm tempted just to throw it out there one of these days and let them chew on it a bit. It might get them to stay the hell away from me. But, with my luck, it'd probably just make it all worse. Not that I give a damn what they think. No, scratch that, I've pretty much gathered they don't think at all.

I've survived death many times while in the middle of far worse than these two pricks could ever imagine, so they were dreaming if they thought that they could ever intimidate me. As far as I'm concerned, they can kiss my ass. No, I take that back. Kissing my ass is too good for them. Some little voice tells me they want to kick it anyway. And the reason they haven't isn't for lack of trying, but rather, timing. Hell, even at 5'11, I wouldn't want to mess with Heero. He isn't in sight at the moment, however. I'm all alone in a very spacious hall with two guys who would like nothing better than to wipe the floor with me.

"Well," the one I dubbed Dumb comments, "if it isn't the girly-boy."

He grins at me, like he's my long lost pal. Right, and you can just call me Al.

I smile back. "Well, if it isn't meathead." I'm such a smartass. Have I mentioned that yet? The way my mouth runs away from me? It's probably not a good thing.

Dumber glowers. He looks like he's constipated. I'm sorry, I can't be frightened of a guy that looks like he's having trouble with his bowel movements every time he glares. It just doesn't inspire fear.

"That mouth of your is going to get you in trouble one of these days," Dumb answers, no longer smiling. He does most of the talking. I think Dumber has a hard time stringing more than two words together.

"Really?" I respond, as if the idea has never occurred to me.

Dumb smiles again, this time with a nasty edge. "You might wake up to find your braid lying next to you on your pillow, sissy-boy."

Oh, so now I've been elevated to the title of sissy-boy. I'm beyond touched.

I adopt __my__ nasty expression, complete with a brittle smile. The one I usually reserve for when I'm in Deathscythe, and say calmly, "If I find my braid lying next to me on my pillow, I'm going to come after you and shove half of it up your ass, and force you to eat the rest."

Apparently they aren't taking me seriously. They laugh instead. Well, I suppose I can hardly blame them. As small as I am, and as skinny, I'm not much of a threat. Or so they think. Mess with my braid without my permission and I let Shinigami out to play.

They move closer to me. So that I can smell the peppermint candy Dumb is eating. Ordinarily, I like that smell. It reminds me of Christmas. Right now, I'm hating it.

Peppermint breath leans down so that I get a nice whiff. "You really think you can threaten us and get away with it?"

They're on either side of me now, boxing me in. I'm not liking the close proximity of their bodies, nor the not so subtle threat in them. I hate it when people get this close to me without my inviting it. It's an invasion of my space I don't tolerate lightly.

"Well, I just did, didn't I?" I return sarcastically, well aware I'm not defusing the situation any. Hell, if I'm going to get pounded, I might as well go down insulting them. The best I'll probably get in is a punch or two, maybe more if I'm lucky. Did I mention these two are jocks? Meaning they've got more muscle than brain. But they know how to use that muscle.

"We don't like your smart mouth," Dumber says.

"It speaks!" I say, faking shock. "Hey, do I look like I give a shit?"

No, I just look like an idiot, holding up a big sign that says, 'Hey, punch me in the face!'.

Dumber swings without warning. I duck, my size on my side for once, and land a nice one in his gut. The sound it makes is music to my ears. The sound Dumber makes is even better when I grab ahold of his bowed head and smash my knee into his face.

I don't think he was expecting it. This is the first time they've caught me alone, so it's the first time they've gotten physical. Which you can tell by the fact that my pulse just jumped up a few thousand paces, and the adrenaline is snapping through me in great waves, much like it does when Deathscythe and I are surrounded by mobile suits. As a matter of fact, the odds at this moment are pretty much the same. I just don't have 7.2 tons of Gundanium to help me. But I can savor the looks I'd find on their faces if I did. Maybe I can focus on that image when the first punch just about takes my head from my shoulders.

I suppose I ought to give them more credit. Dumb doesn't waste his time trying to hit me. He grabs me from behind, pinning my arms so that I can't move. Dumber has that constipated look again, only this time it's made comical by the fact that he's got blood smeared all over his face. As he rears back, I make a half-hearted attempt at struggling, even step on Dumb's toes, but it doesn't have much effect.

He gets me right in the nose. My head snaps back so hard I swear I felt my skull connect with my spine. Little bright lights, that vaguely resemble stars flash in front of my eyes, before my vision tries to blank out altogether. The pain is a living thing. I feel it clear into my teeth. I'm fairly certain he broke my nose. I definitely know he bloodied it, as the stuff I'm currently eating, and is pouring down my face at an alarming rate, sure as hell doesn't taste like candy.

"Not so tough now, are you?" I hear one of them gloat, as if from a distance.

If I could, I'd offer them a one finger salute. Instead, I settle for saying, "Fuck you."

What they would have said in response gets lost, as I'm suddenly jerked away from Dumb in time to see a black clad foot flying toward his head. Twisting around, still feeling the after-effects of the punch, I fall gracelessly on my butt and watch in amazement as a blur of white lands easily on his feet, only to dart forward and smack the flat of his palm into Dumb's chest, sending him stumbling back into the wall. And he's not even breaking a sweat. I think I neglected to mention just how cool Wufei is. He kicks ass.

I draw the nice, white sleeve of my uniform shirt across my bloody nose as Wufei turns to confront Dumber. The look on his face should have been frightening all in itself. There's a stillness to it, a banked fire in his eyes, as if the only thing that holds his temper in is sheer will alone. God help the person that incites it fully. Wu-man can be just as scary as Heero when he wants to be. Sometimes, I think even more so.

Without pausing, his movements flowing into one another in a pattern reminiscent of dancing (only Wufei could make fighting look as elegant as a dance), he lashes out with his hand, chopping Dumber neatly in the neck with the side of his palm. Then, and I swear Wufei has a sadistic streak, he rears back and punches Dumber in his already injured nose, eliciting a curse.

When Dumb comes at him from behind, he neatly sidesteps the blow as if he's psychic, catches him by the arm, and then easily flings him into Dumber like he weighs nothing at all. The two of them go down in a tangle of limbs, and Wufei steps over them as if they weren't even there, retrieving the books he had somehow found time to set aside, and then calmly extending his hand to me.

He doesn't even say a word to them. It's like he didn't just get done knocking the stuffing out of these guys. Cool, calm, and collected. The three C's. That would be him.

All in a days work for Chang 'Superman' Wufei.

"Damn Wufei," I tell him, "that was amazing!"

"Come on, Maxwell," he says simply, turning to walk down the hall, leaving me with no choice but to follow as I wipe ineffectively at my still bleeding nose.

He looks back at me once, expressionless. "We need to get you cleaned up."

I look down at my shirt. I __am__ covered in blood. Lots of blood. Heero is going to have a fit and probably fall in it. School uniforms don't come cheap, and they sure as hell don't buy them for us. We get to do that. And it's not like we're rich. Only Quatre is, and he's disinherited.

I have to wonder why he helped me though. Wufei is about as easy to read as a label in another language. The way he generally ignores me or tells me flat out to go away, I would have thought he'd let me fight my own battles. After all, he probably thinks I brought it on myself. Which, in a way, I did. If I had kept my smart mouth in check, it might not have escalated to the point it did. But I just can't help myself. Guys like them piss me off. I like nothing better than making fools out of them simply because my brain moves a few paces faster.

I'm grateful to him, however. I mean, if it hadn't been for him, I probably would have been ground into pieces so small I'd fit in a canning jar. Despite that fact, and the fact I look a mess, I have to strut just a bit. After all, I got in a few solid licks before Wufei creamed them. And right now, I need to celebrate all I can before Heero gets a load of me and takes a strip out of me. Not that I'm afraid of him. Like I said, I've seen some bad shit. It's just that Heero can pack into two words, what it takes another to get across in ten. And he can do it much more effectively.

Rushing to catch up with him, I glance at him from the corner of my eye. "Hey, Wu, they're going to be all over your ass like ugly on an ape now, you know?"

He gives me a look I can only label as disapproving. Yeah, so Wufei doesn't like my vocabulary. Tough. We all can't be as eloquent as he is.

"I'm well aware of that," he returns succinctly, tone not shifting in the slightest. We could be discussing something as mundane as the weather. I swear, if the guy puts any emotion into his words I'll cut my braid off myself.

"Yeah, well, I just don't want them giving you a bad time on account of me. Thanks by the way," I add, flashing him one of my many grins. I've got quite a few. I give them names. I pull them out at different occasions, whenever they're needed. And no one can see past them. Sometimes I wonder if I'm glad for that, or if I resent it, that no one cares to look past the mask.

This one is my contrite smile. My boyish, 'I'm grateful, but sorry to have troubled you smile'. I'm not sure if he's buying it or not. At times I think Wufei considers me the Devil incarnate. Little does he know, that's a compliment.

"It has nothing to do with you. I made my own decision," he replies, giving me another look down the length of his nose.

The guy is as tall as me, right, but he does that so well I can only think he stands in front of the mirror and practices. Not even the principal, Mr. Stick-up-his-butt can do it quite as effectively. Maybe Wufei was a principal in another life.

"You beat them up for me, so that makes it my fault if they harass you," I return, picking absently at my fingernails. They've got blood beneath them. I'll have to cut them off all the way. They were due for a trim anyway.

"I took care of them because they were beating on you, not for you," he corrects me.

Does he realize that doesn't make a whole lot of sense? Or maybe it does. I think I was just told he would have done that for anyone, that the fact that it was me didn't matter at all. Damn. Why does that realization bother me as much as Heero's ignoring me in favor for his computer? You'd have thought I'd learned my lesson by now. About the only one that really seems to care about me beyond the fact that I'm another Gundam pilot, that I'm needed for missions, is Quatre. And his heart already belongs to someone else.

Why I even bother getting out of bed some days is beyond me.

We're at his room now, and he opens the door, motioning for me to go inside.

"In any case," he continues, "had you been holding your own, I would have let it be. But you weren't."

I grimace. Does he have to point that out, rub it in?

"I was doing fine," I return cheerfully, flopping myself down into an old wooden chair.

He eyes me distastefully, as if he's afraid I'll get blood on the chair.

"Don't worry, Wu," I quip, "I'm finished spouting blood like a fountain."

"Get that shirt off. I'm going to soak it in the sink and treat it now before the blood dries," he orders me, disappearing into the bathroom before I can answer.

I might argue, if it weren't for the fact that his getting the stain out could save me trouble with Heero.

As I work at the buttons, trying to ignore how soaked the shirt really is, I look around Wufei's room. It never ceases to surprise me. It's at such odds with the studious, distant personality he projects. There are touches here and there, old things that had to have belonged to someone that meant something to him in the past. This chair, an ancient looking scroll hanging on the wall, the worn books lining the equally battered looking bookcase. They all speak of a Wufei I've rarely, if ever seen. It's a wonder he even lets me in here.

He comes out of the bathroom on silent feet I might not have heard at all, if it weren't for the fact that living on the streets taught me early the merits of listening closely. I trade him my bloodied shirt for a wet, cold washcloth. Wincing, I press it to my face and begin cleaning up, trying not to notice how much the act sends jolts of pain through me. Yeah, Dumber did a number on me all right. I don't think my poor nose is ever going to be the same.

Wufei appears from the bathroom again, sleeves of his white tunic rolled up to the elbows. He's wiping his hands on a towel, and I can't help but notice how it comes away stained pink. There are faint traces of a frown on his face, and he is watching me with hooded eyes. I try not to flinch when I wipe at my nose again, not while he's watching. The last thing I want is for someone like Wufei to see me in a moment of weakness.

"All done," I say, holding the cloth out.

Walking up to me, he catches the edges of it with his fingers, arm remaining outstretched as he studies my face. For one second, I think I see something akin to sympathy flash through his eyes. But whatever it was, it was so faint, so easily tucked back behind the shutters of glossy black, so fathomless they seem like two separate walls of onyx, that I dismiss it as a fanciful notion. If he was concerned, it was probably for his chair, I decide, as he straightens and the cool look is back and firmly in place.

"Thanks for letting me clean up here."

He shrugs one shoulder. "I couldn't let you bleed all over the hall any longer."

I make a sour face at his back. Gee, how caring that sounds.

Funny, but it's only now I notice the papers and books scattered across the floor. Apparently Wufei was just coming back from the library when he happened upon the scene. But wait... If that were the case, why did he pass his room by? We had to go back down the hall in the opposite direction to get here. I don't suppose I'll ever figure that one out. Wufei the enigma. If I asked, he wouldn't tell me anyway. He'll probably have a perfectly logical reason he'll never share.

I have to be grateful for one last thing, I realize. Wufei didn't accuse me of starting it, of making it worse. He didn't even blame it on me. Not like Heero would have. Will have, I correct myself. Once I get done here, I've still got to explain it to him. It's not like my swollen nose is going to be so easy to overlook. But then again, I concede, with a small flash of hurt I don't want and resent, it might just.


	3. Chapter 3

This is probably one time in many I wish I would have kept my mouth shut. My nose feels like it's the size of a balloon. A great, huge throbbing balloon. When those guys hit, they certainly don't waste any energy. No, he put everything he had behind that punch. Whether I deserved it or not is pretty irrelevant. But just once, I wish I could do more than only get the better of them with words. Don't get my wrong. I appreciate what Wufei did. I only wish it could have been me.

It isn't that I don't know how to fight. When you live on the street as long as I did, and then later with the Sweepers, you learn how to take care of yourself. It's a bit easier when you're facing an opponent more your size, however. Those guys happened to be two grades ahead of me, and damn near a whole foot taller. They have a lot more muscle packed into their frames. So, I suppose I'll just curse my size and leave it at that. Though I notice, size doesn't seem to be a problem for Heero and Wufei. The Hercules of the Gundam pilots.

Ah, well. All I can do is think that I'll get bigger one of these days. I'll hit my growth spurt and up I'll shoot like the stalk of a plant. After all, these long, skinny legs have to be for something. I mean, for my size, I'm almost all leg. And anyway, I have to be honest with myself. It's not my size that's really bothering me. It's the way Heero always, and now Wufei, seems to be bailing me out, unless I'm in Deathscythe. There, I'm worth my salt. I'm a damn good pilot, and that's more than ego talking.

In an effort to pull myself from my thoughts, I leave Wufei's precious chair and zero in on his bookcase. Those books intrigue me. Despite what the others may think, I like reading. Reading is entering a whole other world, where you can live the characters lives and forget about your own for a while. I even enjoy textbooks to an extent.

Learning is proving something to myself. It's showing myself that I'm worth something, that I'm as smart as the rest of them. I realize it's my fault they don't see that. After all, I play the idiot to keep them, and life, at arms length. Better to be considered stupid than to have them touch too close to the truth. And yet, I'm a hypocrite, because I'm bitter when they don't.

"Make up your mind, eh, fool?" I mutter to myself, running my fingers carefully along the worn spines of the books.

They are all very old, and give off a faint musty odor. The majority of, if not all, from what I can see, are in Chinese. That's a disappointment. I can't read Chinese. Not because I'm stupid, but because a guy like me was never given the chance to learn a foreign language. They don't exactly have classes when you live on the street, and the short time I was at the Maxwell Church and going to the Federation school, I didn't get the chance either. Besides, I doubt I was even thinking about that at such a young age.

Young... I'm young now, right? But I don't feel young. I feel old. I feel older than anyone. And sometimes, it makes me tired enough I want to sleep and never wake up.

"Too young to feel this damn old," I say, lips twisting into a vague smile as I turn from the bookcase to look at the organized mess on the floor. A contradiction, eh? It's a mess of papers and books all right, but I bet Wufei knows exactly where everything is. He's got some memory. Too bad for me, as it makes it easier for him to hold stuff against me.

One paper in particular catches my eyes. Pushing myself back across the room, noticing for the first time that my white, sleeveless undershirt is stained as well, I drop to my knees. My hands close around the paper and I stare at the characters hard, as if I could decipher them by doing that alone. Nothing else is in Chinese, so this makes me think it's a letter of some sort. It makes me wonder what kind of family Wufei has waiting for him. He never talks about anyone, so it's almost as if I've assumed he doesn't have anyone. But then, that doesn't make it true.

I'm a bad friend, and snoop. I wish I could read this, just so that I could know who Wufei leaves behind. He would appreciate neither. My interference, or the fact that I consider him a friend. Wufei has made it clear on more than one occasion that he does things alone, and expects to continue that way. Yeah, I've done things alone for the longest time too, but I'm not above help when the situation warrants it. Don't get me wrong though, I'm not a big person. My reasons are selfish. For the first time I've found people I can relate to on some level, and I don't want to let them go.

Giving up, as it's really the only thing I __can__ do, I set the paper down exactly as I found it. By now, I bet Wufei knows me well enough. The second he steps foot in this room, he's going to look for anything out of place. Since I'm injured at the moment, and at his mercy while he holds my shirt hostage, I don't think it would be wise to give him reason to be pissed at me. Not that he actually needs one. Wufei seems to be out of sorts with me at least once a day, whether he's got reason to or not. I think it's a safe bet to say I annoy him. I can't tell you how that breaks my heart.

With nothing else to occupy my interest (I'm not stooping so low as to go through his dresser), I take to squinting at the books lining the shelf, wondering how Wufei can even read them, considering most of the print is so faded. I'm tempted to take one down and open it, but with my luck, it would fall apart in my hands. Then, I'd be joining it, a pile of dust on the floor. Because I'm pretty sure damaging his precious books would earn me a spot on Wufei's hit list. So, instead, I content myself with staring at them, and playing with the vague thought that keeps floating in the back of my mind... Does Heero's butt ever get stuck to that seat?

The door to the room opens and before I can even turn, Wufei says, "Don't touch those. They are fragile."

That statement mildly annoys me. I hadn't touched them, and knowing how old they appeared, I wasn't going to. But of course, Wufei automatically assumes I will. I mean, I obviously don't have brain one in my head. I probably don't have eyes either. It's a wonder I can even navigate my way through life, what with how low my supply of intelligence is.

Slanting him a glance down the curve of my shoulder, I stuff my hands in my pockets and mask my irritation with a quick smile that even I can feel doesn't quite reach my eyes.

"Why have all these books if you can't read them?" I quip, knowing this is not the wisest choice of answers. It can go one of three ways; it'll annoy him too, he'll ignore me as he often does, or he'll assume I did touch the books. I just don't know when to quit, do I?

He stares at me for a few moments, a lumpy, white cloth held gingerly in his hands. Since his face remains without expression, I can't tell what he's thinking. Not that I ever really can. I think Wufei invested some stock in brick walls, much like Heero did. I'd lump Trowa in there with them, but Quatre seems to be able to read him. Lucky him.

I think one of these days, I'm going to flat out ask Wufei why he hates me and see what kind of response I get. Now, however, doesn't seem to be a good time.

"I don't expect you to understand," he says dismissively, stepping around the papers and books on the floor.

I've just been insulted, but I'm too fascinated with what this reveals about Wufei to care. He carts a bunch of ancient books with him, wherever he goes, for sentimental reasons. Still, to have him imply I don't understand anything about having ties to something for the memories it brings me, irks me. Unlike some, I didn't always have the option of a warm bed and a filling meal. My entire life has pretty much been the street, where I worked for what I could, and stole what I couldn't. So what few things I have of the times when I didn't matter greatly to me.

"Yeah?" I reply, my tone neutral. "You'd be surprised what I understand."

I'm bothered enough by the way he seemed to have sized me up and judged me, that when he first reaches me, I jerk away from him, earning myself a raised eyebrow and a condescending expression. Nevermind the fact that it was probably my fault given my comment, which was purposefully said to nettle him. I get tired of people assuming things about me, because of the way I dress, the way I talk, or the way I act. I learned long ago not to even attempt to disabuse them of their notions. People are going to think what they want too. Why I thought these boys were any different, is beyond me. Shame on me for being the fool.

"Hold still, Maxwell," he orders me sternly. "I have ice."

"I can put it on myself," I reply, holding out my hand for it.

Rather than give it to me, he shifts it to the other hand, reaches out, and promptly grabs a hold of my nose before I can even react. There is a loud popping sound, and my face floods with pain.

Jerking away from him, I snap, as my hands go up to cover my injured nose, blood leaking out through my fingers, "Dammit! That fucking hurt!"

While I am trying to decide whether or not Wufei did that for my own benefit, or to give himself the pleasure of causing me pain, he impatiently thrusts the towel of ice at me. I reluctantly lower my hands, glaring at him in wariness, as I take it and move away from him. A faint smile crosses his face, and he turns away, giving me such a lovely shot of the back of his head, it's all I can do to resist hucking the ice at him.

I've been hurt before, but this really takes the cake. It feels like my entire face is on fire. As a matter of fact, it hurts so much, my eyes are watering, the salty warmth leaking from the corners to trail down the sides of my face. The ice isn't doing much to help that, but I leave it there anyway, knowing it'll make the swelling to go down. I get the impression without having looked at myself, that I must be a mess. At least, my nose sure as hell feels like it's two sizes too big for my face.

When I finally take notice of something else apart from my pain, I find Wufei sitting on the floor, one leg folded under the other, as he leans over papers, his glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. I might as well not even be in the room for all the attention he's now paying me. I just had Deja vu. Didn't we just go through this scene about an hour or so back, down the hall a ways, and in another room?

I have to add to that comment I made about why I get out of bed. Now, I wonder why I even bother to associate with other humans at all. If they aren't ignoring me, they're trying to beat the shit out of me. Either I need new friends, or a new personality.

"Was that really necessary?" I ask Wufei around the make-shift icepack.

He looks up at me from where I stand over him.

"Do you want your nose to set crooked or not?" He asks, annoyance apparent both in his tone and his expression at my interruption of his studies.

"I'd prefer it set straight," I answer, somewhat reluctantly, knowing where this is going, but following anyway.

"Then it was necessary," he returns, eyes flickering back down to what he was looking at.

Maybe there's something wrong with me, but in the battle between explaining the mess I'm in to Heero verses staying here with the unsociable Wufei, hanging with Wufei wins. See, I'm just not in the mood to tell him the entire story, and then have to listen to him lecture me on how important it is to remain inconspicuous for what feels like the millionth time. A guy can only take so much of those 'you're an idiot' looks in one day. It starts to wear at his self-esteem. Besides, I'm hungry and I intend to convince Wufei to go to town with me to get some real food. We aren't eating the crap in the cafeteria. I suffer that enough everyday, thanks.

"Hey Wu, will you loan me one of those funky shirts of yours?" I ask.

He doesn't sigh, but I sense he wants to.

"Your shirt will be done soon enough," he tells me, not bothering to look up.

"I don't know about you, but the thought of going out in a wet shirt just isn't appealing."

He looks up this time.

"Where are you going?"

"Not where am __I__ going, but where are __we__ going," I correct, grinning.

"I am not going anywhere with you, Maxwell. I intend to study. You may not be concerned with passing your exams tomorrow, but I am."

I want to ask him why. Why do we even give a shit? This is only a cover to keep people from realizing we're those Gundam pilots who spend our free time blowing the hell out of OZ facilities and generally kicking them in the teeth.

Instead, I keep my smile.

"I've studied enough for one day, thanks. Now come on. Let's get something to eat. You can't very well study without fuel, now can you?" I add, walking down logic's path. Wufei isn't swayed by much. Logic stands a better chance of winning than pleading.

He eyes me blandly. "What you call food, and what I call food, are two different things."

I fold my arms. "Oh, let me guess, you'd rather eat that slop they call nutrition in the cafeteria?"

He's still listening to me, so I think I might actually be making some headway. I cross the fingers hidden beneath my arm. Hey, it can't hurt. If I believe in the God of Death, I've got to be a bit superstitious.

"If we do, will it get you to leave me alone?" He asks finally.

I resist the urge to make a snide remark. It's not easy. I should at least get something for the effort.

"There's a fast food joint just a block away," I inform him cheerfully, making a beeline for his closet.

He must have noticed what I was up to. It takes hardly any time at all for him to rise gracefully and beat me there. He reaches inside and hands me one of his white tunics, clearly not thrilled with giving it to me.

"Don't worry, I'll give it back," I tell him, slipping into it. It's soft. Like silk. No wonder Wufei likes them so much.

"We aren't going to a fast food place," he answers, slipping his glasses from his face to lay them aside on his nightstand.

"Oh?" I ask, quickly buttoning it up. There are a lot of buttons. "Where are we going then?"

"You'll see," he replies vaguely.

I hope it's some place good. I'm starved.

"I can't believe you did this to me," I groan, about a foot behind Wufei as I trudge along the path leading back to the school.

Wufei doesn't answer me, but the smug look he throws over his shoulder says he's pleased with himself. What a vindictive little man he is. Just because I bugged him, and got one __tiny__ little drop of blood on the tunic he loaned me... He made me walk __all__ the way to town! And back again. We're smart enough. We could have stolen a car or something. Just because neither of us has our license doesn't mean we don't know how to drive. But given the way he's practically covering a mile with every step, he considers this good exercise.

"Couldn't we have at least eaten in town instead of waiting until we get back?" I try. The smell wafting from the bag I carry has been torturing me for miles now.

"No. We can eat while we study."

It's clear I'm outnumbered here. And Wufei is only one person.

"You're not a monopoly, you know. I let you pick out the food, __and__ our mode of transportation." Silly me.

"Walking is good for you, Maxwell. It is only three miles there and three miles back."

"Only..." I mutter, glaring at the back of his head through the strands of my hair.

The only small pleasure I can derive from this entire trip, was the fact that the guy at the Chinese restaurant kept giving Wufei weird looks, like he thought Wu was the one who hit me. Not that Wufei noticed. He was too busy being his usual cool, arrogant self to realize someone was being the same back to him. I don't suppose it would matter even if he did. Wufei isn't intimidated by anything, least of all some skinny waiter who probably couldn't lift his leg above the bar, let alone as high as Wufei's face.

You know, it always amazes me how calm Wufei can be in person, and yet, when he gets in Nataku, he's like a berserker. It's almost as if he has two separate personalities. I can relate there. Only, for me, it's the opposite. In Deathscythe, I get calmer, more focused, and sometimes, downright nasty. I talk a lot though. I need to almost as a distraction from what I'm doing. Heero, however, is the silent killer. He says nothing, unless it's absolutely necessary. Wu just screams a lot. It'd be funny if it wasn't for the fact that he does that just before he kills someone.

Five young boys. Five young Gundam pilots. Five young murderers.

Sometimes, I wonder if anyone else thinks about this the same way I do. Nothing penetrates Heero's Gundamium shield. I'll bet he just looks at it as all part of the mission, and leaves it at that. I envy him that, his ability to focus only on what needs to be done and forget about the results. But then, I suppose I could be wrong. The more I think I know these four pilots, the less I actually do. They always do something that throws me off completely. I'm not any better though. It's our job to confuse and confound the enemy. But I thought that it might be different among friends...

There's a really old song. It has a line in it that always strikes a chord with me. "You've got to go through Hell before you can get to Heaven."[1] The thing is, I always wonder if this means in life, or when you finally die. Because it seems like I've been going through hell for as long as I can remember. Heaven is one of those things I don't believe in. When I die, there's no chance in hell of me ever making it to any kind of Heaven. I've done and seen too much. Father Maxwell talked about a forgiving God, about a God that loves you no matter what, but I can't see that loving God taking the lives of the very people who devoted their entire existence to Him. I mean, why believe anyway? I've pretty much screwed my chances for redemption.

The God of Death embraced me, I embraced the God of Death. I walk with the darkness, and my actions are a constant shadow behind me. But I've accepted that, so I don't do what I do now for some kind of forgiveness. I don't do it for me. Don't think I'm big because of it, however. I like the danger, the excitement. I thrive on it. Piloting Deathscythe is my fee for my services. And the outcome, is payment enough.

There's a vague memory of something that is ironic in that it brings me comfort. Father Maxwell, balancing me on his knee one time, told me of something when I criticized war and the amount of lives it took. He said that in the Bible, the God of Life condoned taking lives when it was for the protection of yourself or your country in the midst of a battle. I take lives for a cause, for a reason. I never kill more than necessary, and I don't get any joy from it. It just happens that we're on opposite sides. That happens in war. People fight for their different beliefs, all realizing that they could lose their lives for it. So I respect them, the men I kill, and soothe my conscience some with wisdom from a god I don't even believe in.

"You're lagging, Maxwell. Keep up," Wufei's voice slices through my thoughts.

I blink. I ignore the sting in his tone, because I'm grateful for the interruption. I was getting all serious on myself there again. I seem to be doing that a lot lately. The more I'm at this, actually. Maybe it's just exams. All this studying is frying my brain. If I end up unable to pilot Deathscythe because of it, maybe I'll have an excuse to throw at Heero for why I can't study anymore.

That thought brightens me considerably, and I grin as I rush to catch up to Wufei.

Falling in next to him, I bounce along lightly heel to toe, my braid swaying with each movement. I feel Wufei cast a sidelong glance at me, before he goes back to concentrating on his own path. He's probably wondering what great thing changed my mood. Or maybe he isn't. I'm the master at mood swings. Half the time, the majority of them are fake and all for someone else's benefit. But, somewhere in here, I'm actually a really cheerful kind of guy. I just like to think depressing thoughts.

"I thought your feet hurt," Wufei points out.

"They do," I reply cheerfully.

He doesn't say anything after that. Conversations with him are always sporadic at best. There are moments, however, where you can get him going and he hardly shuts up. You just have to find the right topic. Of course, first, he has to be willing to talk. It doesn't work if he's being stubborn, and close-mouthed. I always bug him until he's forced to say something. He has yet to physically throw me from his room, so I take that as a good sign.

Without warning, the school looms suddenly before us, an impressive structure of old brick and mortar. It's one of those 'catering to the rich' kind of schools. The only reason we're in here, is because Heero's hacking skills are good enough to lie and say we're from staunch, wealthy families. That really is laughable. Me, from a classy family with money. Now, in Quatre's case, it's no lie. His made up background might be, but he really does have class, and it shows. So does Wufei, actually, but if he's from a wealthy family, he isn't saying.

We walk up the path that leads into the school. Other students greet us as we go. I wave and smile, but Wufei ignores them. A few girls stop me to ask what happened to my nose. Sugar coated or not, it's nice to have someone fawn over me. Heero'll only yell, and Wufei seems disgusted. I make up some impossibly wild story to get them laughing, and apply all my natural charm. Talking with people comes easy to me. What can I say, I'm an extrovert, a people person. I like being around others. Being alone sucks. Plus it always gives me too much time to think.

I can sense Wufei is getting impatient. His dark eyes focus on me, and the disapproval there is palpable.

"Sorry ladies, gotta go. Mr. Party Pooper there is in a hurry."

Actually, so am I, but I don't tell them that, nor do I let it stop me from gabbing.

They giggle. The sound is kind of annoying, but like I said, at least they give a damn about my poor, abused nose.

Wufei turns on his heel and disappears into the school before I even reach him, forcing me to hurry again. When I catch up to him, I make a face that clearly says I think he's no fun at all.

He looks unperturbed, as usual.

Giving up for the moment, I walk the rest of the way to his room in silence. After we deposit all our food on the floor, I quickly take off Wufei's tunic and hand it to him. It doesn't surprise me that he immediately heads for the bathroom. Well, if he wants to wash more shirts while I eat, good for him. I'm not waiting.

I manage to get three of my cartons open and arranged in front of me, before Wufei comes back, his sleeves rolled up again, and my shirt in one outstretched hand. Taking it from him, I note it's still damp. Instead of putting it on, I lay it aside and watch as Wufei sits down cross-legged on the other side of me. When no forks are forthcoming, I decide it's time to do something about that.

"Hey Wu, where're the forks?" I ask hopefully.

He's in the process of dipping chopsticks into one of his cartons. Pausing, he gives me a look that clearly states he thinks I'm a moron.

"I asked for two sets of chopsticks, Maxwell."

I stare at him. Me, use chopsticks? They're just two pieces of skinny wood!

"I've never used chopsticks in my life. I'm starving to death here, and you want me to use them now?" I say with no small amount of incredulity.

"It's not difficult," he answers evenly.

Sure, not for him, who's probably been using them all his life.

Handing me a set, he adds, "Just try it."

I give a lengthy sigh, which he easily ignores.

"Okay... but I'm going to get food all over the place."

My prediction was a bit off. I didn't get food all over the place. Just in my lap.

Covered in food stains, my still damp shirt unbuttoned, and my nose swollen to the size of a baseball, I slip back into the room I share with Heero some hours later. The figures and definitions Wufei all but pounded into my skull echo dully, and I think I've got the start of a headache. Heero is just coming from the shower, a towel wrapped around his waist. Freezing, I blink and stare at him in a fashion that must look simple minded.

He says nothing about my state of dress or my nose. Instead, he says succinctly, "You are a few minutes from curfew."

With effort, I keep my jaw firmly in place. I can feel hurt stirring, the sting of it settling into my cheeks, but I know he can't see it. He never does. Normally, I love being right, but in this case, I'm not liking it. He didn't notice my nose, he didn't ask if I was all right, and for all intensive purposes, it seems like he could give a damn less. He's only worried about something that'll get me in trouble with the school.

Now I'm angry.

Shrugging, I say airily, "But I'm not late. So don't trouble yourself."

It goes right over Heero's head. My nasty tone is completely lost on him. I don't think he would have noticed it if it bit him in the ass.

With venom, I snatch my nightclothes from my dresser. A pair of shorts and a faded, old T-shirt. They snap against me as I jerk them, but I ignore that. Instead, I slam the dresser drawers shut, slam the bathroom door shut, and slam the shower door open. By this time, I'm feeling a bit drained and more than a little foolish. Why waste my effort? Heero never notices anyway.

Note:  
[1] This line is from the Steve Miller Band's 'Jet Airliner'. Good song. ^_^ Most of their songs are.


	4. Chapter 4

here's an insistent, piercing shriek right beside my ear.

Groaning, I roll over and bat at it, hoping I can make it go away. No such luck. It keeps on going. I think it's trying to tell me something. But I don't want to wake from this sleep induced fog to figure out what. What I want, is for it to go away before reality intrudes. Unfortunately, it's too late for that. I am now half-awake, and fumbling around for the off button to my alarm. Why don't they put these damn things in a convenient spot?

My face feels like someone ran it over with a two-by-four. The inside of my mouth tastes as dry as cotton. And my head is killing me. It feels like two guys decided to have happy hour inside my skull. If I could get a hold of them, I'd wring their scrawny necks. Right after I forced them to get me some aspirin, that was...

Keeping my eyes squeezed tightly shut, I throw the covers back and lay in my bed like a limp noodle. The prospect of what awaits me should I move, is enough to make me want to craw back under the covers and never surface again. Exams. For me, today is the beginning of exams week. Oh yeah, and aside from exams, I don't want to look at my face in the mirror. I'm afraid of what I'll see. Probably something right out of one of those old Saturday Matinee horror movies. Attack of the man with the five foot wide nose or something equally lame.

This routine is a familiar one. I roll first one leg over the bed, so that my toes dangle on the cold, hard wood of our floor. Then, I prop myself up on my elbows, and slide the other leg over, rising like some kind of vampire from a good day's sleep. Bowing my head and letting my hands fall into my lap, I crack open one eye and examine the wrinkles in my over-sized shirt. I force the other eye open, and it's like a shot of pain right into my brain. Blinking rapidly, I try to adjust to the change in light as quickly as possible. There's a fuzzy shape over by the window that I want to get a good look at.

Oh, wait, it's just my roommate. Wouldn't you know. He's already showered, dressed, and ready for success. He looks pretty damn neat too. While I look like the rumpled mess from hell. I tell you, many more ego boosts like this one first thing in the morning, and I don't think I'll be able to survive. Yeah, I wish. I can't tell you how often I've hoped I'd pitch over head-first and never get up. Is it obvious yet that I'm not a morning person? Mornings were made for bastards like Heero who make getting up look easy. Not for people like me, who think sleeping in until noon is getting up early.

Time to get up all the way. Giving myself one good lunge, I rise to my feet and trudge toward the bathroom at the pace of a man with rubber legs. Each step intensifies the stabbing ache in my skull. Maybe if I choke down half a bottle of pills, I'll feel marginally better. Or I could just dunk my head in the toilet and start flushing. Maybe the swirling motion will wake me up all the way and get me raring to go. Of course, I might accidentally flush my braid down the drain. That would suck. I could see myself trying to explain __that__ one to Heero...

Goal, ladies and gentlemen. I've finally made it to the bathroom door. Let's see how long it takes to get me inside. We've got zero seconds on the clock. As soon as I take the first step we'll time me. I think I can at least make it to the shower in a minute. What do you want to bet?

"Hurry up, Duo. You're going to be late for breakfast."

Right. Good morning to you too, Heero. I slept well, thank you. And you?

Spinning as fast as I can without upending myself, I give Heero a glare that must look comical considering my frizzy hair and messed up face.

"I feel like shit, I look like shit, and I'm going to start treating __you__ like shit if you don't shut up and leave me the hell alone!" I snap, turning my back on him soon after and slamming the door.

I mentioned I wasn't a morning person. You had fair warning.

My pride liked the slamming of the door. My head did not.

Stumbling over to the mirror, rubbing my temples furiously, I stare into the glass, grimacing at the large, purple thing on my face otherwise known as my nose. Ripping the cabinet open, I tear out a bottle of aspirin, take the lid off, and chew up three dry. Man, they taste bitter. It's a far sight better than having my mouth feeling like it's stuffed full of cotton, however.

A quick glance at the clock tells me I don't have time for a shower. (Oh yeah, you guessed it. Heero put a clock in the bathroom in the hopes of making me move faster. Is that anal or what?) Just lovely. I'm going to have to tame my hair somehow, get dressed, and get out of here within the next five minutes if I hope to have any time at all to eat.

I should set my alarm for an earlier time...

First I need a bandage. There should be one in here somewhere. Since Heero's always trying to self-destruct or kill himself in some other equally painful manner, we've practically taken out stock in Band-Aid. Luckily for me, I found a rather large one. It'll cover my whole nose, and then I'll just have to answer questions all day long. That's better than having everyone staring at the big mottled blob that has now become my nose. I'd tell them I ran into a door if I wasn't such a stickler for telling the truth. The only consolation is the two jerks that did this are going to look worse than I am.

Working quickly, I re-braid my hair, splash some cold water on my face, gently pat my nose dry, and then stick the bandage on there. Not good, but not bad either. It seems odd to brush your teeth before you eat, but I've got to get rid of this taste. So I go through the motions of doing that, and then leave the bathroom to scour the closet for a freshly pressed uniform. I really hate these things. I want my other outfit back. I can hardly wait until I get out of here. No more studying, and no more fussy shirts and stupid ties.

Heero is gone already. I'm not surprised. I'm too slow for him, so he never waits. Knowing him, he's already there, ate, and is well on his way to class. Some days I can catch him to have breakfast with him. Though I don't know why I even care. He doesn't pay any attention to anything but the food. Lift fork. Put fork in mouth. Chew. Swallow. Repeat process. It's like watching a robot eat. The only conversation I get out of the whole thing is with Quatre. Wufei sips tea and reads. Trowa eats and stares at Quatre when he thinks the Arabian pilot isn't looking.

There. I'm ready to go. I've got my bookbag, I look half-way decent, and I'm starting to feel like a human. Once I get some food down me, I'll be well on my way to becoming a whole person. The exams should be a breeze. I'll probably have to fudge some of my answers so I won't ruin my 'good, but not great' image. I've got a role to keep up here after all. Frankly, I'd rather go on a mission by myself, smack into the middle of a high security base, with busted hyper jammers.

I open the door, stop, and blink owlishly. Wufei is standing on the other side, a book propped up in his hands, and a unreadable expression on his face.

"Uh... get lost, Wu?" I ask, puzzled. Wufei's never met me to walk to breakfast. I always figured he was like Heero, and didn't want to have to wait.

Closing the book with a snap, he pulls off his glasses and slips them into a case before depositing them in his own bookbag.

"I know where I'm at, Maxwell. Now, are you going to stand there all day, or are we going to breakfast?"

Right. Breakfast.

"Breakfast. Good idea."

I close the door behind me and fall in next to him, walking briskly, and casting glances at him every so often. I don't get him at all. Why was he waiting for me? After all the trouble I caused him last night, I pretty much thought he'd never want to set eyes on me again. Like I said before, I don't think I'm any closer to knowing these guys than I was when I first met them. They always find ways to change my perceptions of them. Damned rude of them.

"So," I venture, drawing the word out, "what brings you to my humble domain at such an ungodly hour?"

He ignores that question. "How is your nose?"

I'm not awake. I'm still dreaming. That has to be the explanation. Wufei did not just inquire after my well-being.

"It's better, thanks," I say, after a lengthy pause in which I assume I'm not dreaming because Wufei didn't do anything weird to spoil the moment like put on a pink tutu and start dancing Swan Lake.

Funny, how that one little question makes me feel better. Wufei gives a damn about my nose. Actually, one better. He cares something about __me__. I find myself holding my breath in the hopes he won't say anything nasty to detract from it.

A few seconds pass and he says nothing. I release the breath, unable to hold a smile in.

"Are you prepared for exams?"

Now he's starting a conversation. I'm expecting the Twilight Zone theme to start up any time now.

"Yeah. I can probably pass with my eyes closed."

"Don't. You would end up writing on your desk."

Someone pinch me. Was that a joke? Maybe I should feel his forehead or something. I can't tell, since it was said in his usual tone of voice. Read: no tone at all. That is, unless he's feeling the need to make a point. In which case, his voice becomes very smug and makes you feel like the size of one of those stupid Pill bugs I'm always finding in the shower. How they get under the door is beyond me. It looks like the seal is tighter than Heero's relationship with his computer. But I'm getting off topic here.

"Hey, you feeling all right?" I ask, shifting my book back to the other arm.

He glances at me. It was one of those 'that was a stupid question' looks. That right there told me everything I need to know. Wufei is Wufei, and there isn't much chance of him changing any time soon. Not that I would want it any other way. Odd, that. I complain about how nasty Wufei is to me and how much effort it takes to get him to pay attention to me, yet I don't want him to be any different. I think I'm beginning to see who is really the screwed up one here. Me.

"I'm fine," he answers dismissively.

"What about you?" I ask, as we keep walking down the hall in an attempt to keep the conversation going. "Are you ready for exams?"

As if I don't already know the answer to __that__ one.

"I will adequately pass."

There is a moment of silence, in which I look down at my feet and then back up at Wufei again. A question on my lips I've only thought but never voiced. I don't know why I need to ask it now, or of him, but I suddenly have to.

"Why do you care?"

He looks at me. "What?"

I shift my bookbag again. A sure sign of nerves.

"Why do you care if you pass or not? It's not like we're really students here, or as if it's going to matter when we leave."

He doesn't answer me. Only watches me steadily, the reflection in his eyes not wavering.

The cafeteria is just down the hall. I can see the doors from here. We're still walking. I have this feeling he's going to avoid my question. We'll enter the cafeteria, and I won't get another chance to bring it up for a while again, for whatever reason. Maybe because he finds the question stupid. Maybe he looks at it from the same point of view as Heero. It serves the mission, enough said. It'll serve the mission down the line when we get to the next school. It's all about the mission.

I don't know what's wrong with me exactly. I'm feeling edgy. I'm in this for the mission too. It's just that the blind obedience Heero shows... and maybe Wufei too, bothers me. Like robots. Like robots with no feelings, no desires, no sense of direction outside the ones they're given. What kind of life is that? And how does it make them any better than the hordes of soldiers fighting for the other side?

I never asked for anything for myself out of this. I'm doing it because I'm arrogant enough to think my actions can make a difference. I know what it's like to live in poverty, to live in fear of just living. If there's a chance I can end that, then I'm damn well going to give it my best shot. But nobody controls me. Not even Doctor G. I make my own way, and if his objectives don't fit mine, then screw him. He isn't going to run my life. Not like Doctor J does Heero's. Why I want Wufei to be different in this instance isn't clear to me. All I know, is that I need __someone__ to think like I am, to feel like I am.

Just how much do we have to sacrifice for the greater good? Ourselves? Do we have to give up all we are for the colonies, for the people who don't know were alive or maybe don't even appreciate our efforts? Eat, sleep, breath the mission. Pull it into ourselves until it's coming out of our pores, until it's all there is. I can't live that way. I won't. I'm giving up my freedom for these people, but I won't give up my sense of self. I don't want anyone to exist like I have ever again. I don't want anyone to fight like this, but us. Only I'll feel the pain that comes with it. But I won't ever lose myself. There's a lot I can give, but it won't be that.

We've reached the cafeteria. But Wufei surprises me by stopping and turning so that he is looking directly at me.

"For myself."

The words are said quietly, so I almost have to strain to hear him. His expression remains enigmatic. Some knot loosens inside of me, and it's like I've been given the right to breath for the first time in years.

"For yourself..." I repeat, but he isn't looking at me any longer. He's walking into the room without me.

Unmoving, I watch him go. For himself. A matter of pride. It isn't because of the mission. There's a lightness to my step now, and the fog in my head seems to have cleared some. I have this feeling, as I settle down at our usual table, that I'll pass the exams easily. But it won't be for the mission. Like Wufei, it'll be for myself. I may be a dirt poor orphan from L2 colony, but I'm not stupid. I can prove that to myself by making the effort.

Heero's already eating with his usual mechanical detachment. Quatre is sipping something that looks like coffee with creme in it. Trowa is munching methodically on a cinnamon roll (for some reason, I never would have taken him for someone who liked sweets). Wufei is retrieving his usual healthy breakfast of tea and some gross looking wheat cereal. As I set my bag down beside me, Quatre indicates to the plate in front of me with a smile.

"I got your favorite."

I would kiss Quatre if I didn't think Trowa would leap over the table and pound me into dust.

Of all the days, he picked this one to get me breakfast. It's like he has some sort of emphatic radar. Which, given the way he reacts sometimes, I wouldn't be surprised if he did. The day started off on a sour note, but it's almost as if everyone is going out of their way to make it better. Well, almost everyone, I concede, tossing Heero a surreptitious glance.

"Thanks, Quatre," I answer, as I dig into the pile of eggs that vaguely resemble a mountain.

Wufei slides in next to me.

He eyes my breakfast. "Bacon is highly fattening."

I pause, my fork mid-way to my mouth.

"Yeah, and wheat cereal tastes like shit. So?"

He eyes me blandly in open disapproval.

I grin.

"Duo! What happened to your nose?" Quatre asks suddenly, jetting up from the table, and almost upsetting his coffee. If it weren't for the fact that Trowa has such quick reflexes, it might have ended up in the blonde pilot's lap.

He looks so openly concerned, it's all I can do not to leap up, and start dancing, all the while pointing my finger at Heero and singing at the top of my lungs, 'See, somebody gives a damn!'.

I maintain nonchalance.

"Nothing really. Just had a run in with someone's fist."

Quatre's brows knit together, and something enters his eyes that totally shatters that innocent look of his. If you've never seen Quatre angry, then you're in for a real treat. While the rest of his face remains its usual flawless self, his eyes practically snap with fury. Pity the person that forces him to flip out.

"Who?" He asks deliberately.

Trowa shoots him a sidelong glance out from under his bang. Heero remains eating his superhero breakfast as if nothing at all was going on. Wufei sips his tea casually, all the while casting glances in Quatre's direction.

"Don't worry, Quatre-man, Wufei beat the hell out of them already."

All eyes slide to Wufei. Even Heero's this time.

Wu does not look pleased. The glare he gives me is openly hostile. No mistaking this particular emotion.

"I simply pulled them from Maxwell so as to keep them from doing further damage," he dismisses, going back to his breakfast in a manner that says the topic is no longer open for discussion.

"Well," Quatre says at length, finally sitting down, "that's good."

Yes, folks, at the moment, life is good. Life is very good.

Life is bad. Life is very bad.

I glare down at the offense paper on my desk, resisting the urge to scrawl across it in big letters, 'I refuse to take this test on the grounds that it serves no purpose. While I'm in Deathscythe, blowing the hell out of OZ facilities, I seriously doubt I will be thinking about the greatness of some dead guy who wrote about a war he probably never even seen'. Sighing, I rub the eraser of my pencil across my forehead and look up at the clock. A half an hour left to go. This is my last exam. For today, at any rate. Why the instructors can't all just schedule them for the same day is for them to know and me to find out.

Sitting up straight in my chair, I stretch my arms over my head and pop my back. That felt good. I've had a crick in it since third hour. The sound of it, however, is like a hand smacked on a counter top in dead silence. Just about everyone is staring at me. Not that I really care. Attention has never bothered me. So I smile at them, and they blink, going back to their exams. I wonder if they're doing any better than I am.

Okay, Maxwell, think. You can bluff your way through this. Or, you can do what you've been wanting to do all along... And that is, to inform the teacher that though this author has become a classic reference for war, he doesn't know jack shit about it. Because I'm feeling perverse, I think that is exactly what I will do. I'll just give a nice little essay here about what it __really__ feels like to be in the midst of one. In a round-a-bout way, of course. I don't want to give myself away somehow. I'd never hear the end of it from Heero.

Smiling to myself, I take my pencil up again and get to work. The ideas that are pouring of my head are probably going to take up the front and back of the paper. She hardly gave us enough room. While I know I'll only get about half credit for this, it hardly matters. I'm not supposed to be perfect anyway. Besides, I'm doing this for myself. I don't agree with what the guy has to say. Why should I blindly regurgitate what I consider to be a load of crap? I'm a free thinking human being here. If they don't like that, tough. They can turn out all the mindless zombies they want, but I'm not going to be one of them.

The last half an hour passes swiftly. By the time I'm done, the bell signaling the end of class is minutes away from ringing, and the instructor is calling for our exams to be passed to the front of the room. Smirking, I pass mine up, stuffing my pencil into my bag. The bell rings shrilly, and I grab my bag, rising on slightly stiff legs. I'll tell you, sitting at a hard desk all day is nothing like spending ours in Deathscythe's cockpit. At least, I never get cramped up while in there.

Following the crowd of lemmings from the room, I push my way past the flow and head in the opposite direction. I want to walk across campus instead. It's easier to navigate my way to my room, believe it or not. The halls are always obscenely crowded after last class lets out. Most people don't have the manners necessary to function in the everyday world either. For a bunch of posh kids, they sure as hell don't act any different from the street kids back on L2 that used to harass me.

Guess it's true. You can change the clothing on a man, slap a fancy label on him, and underneath, he's still the same animal.

As I predicted, the campus is relatively free from traffic. I can maneuver with ease, all the while enjoying the outdoors after a day of being stuck inside, staring longingly out the window. I am not a good student, for the simple fact that I hate sitting still for so long. If I could have gotten away with it, I would have bailed out the nearest open window and made a run for it.

I half expect to run into Dumb and Dumber. Instead, I run into Heero.

Well, not literally. He's sitting on a bench, staring at what appears to be nothing in particular. Eyeing him oddly, I change directions and head for him. I might as well say hello and see what's up, even if I don't expect an answer of any kind.

He looks up as I approach, so I wave, smiling cheerfully. That's my usual greeting. Even jerks can have it. Hey, whatever throws them off balance.

Just as I'm about to say something, a voice sounds from behind me. "Heero!"

I become very still. I know that voice. All too well. What did she do the last time she saw him, plant some kind of tracking device? Heero looks past my shoulder expressionlessly. I wish I could tell what he's thinking when he sees her. I suppose, however, it's no different from what he does when he's looking at me. Maybe both of us should take the hint. He doesn't give a damn about either of us and probably never will. The only difference between us, is that I don't make my feelings known, she does. Embarrassingly so.

Turning, I plaster a bright smile on my face. "Relena. How nice to see you."

She breezes right past me. I might as well not even exist in the colorful dream world she constructs for herself. All she can see, is Heero. Maybe she wants him for the Peacecraft family knight, so she can shine him up and store him in the hall. Or, maybe she wants him as an ornament to wear on her arm as she parades from one endless party to another. Whatever the case, the naive little girl making herself at home next to Heero does not know a damn thing about him. She only sees him as she wants to, not as he is. She could never make him happy.

And neither can I.

Yet, still, it hurts. It hurts to see her so close to him, and to not have him shove her away. I wish it didn't. Above all else, I hate being a stupid fool.

"You won't believe what I had to go through to find you!" Relena's hopelessly optimistic voice floats over to me.

I clench my teeth and take a good, long look at her. She's everything I'm not. Classy, innocent, pure. For her, the world exists in bright colors. For me, it's dark.

There's nothing for me here now. No reason to stick around. If Heero wants Relena clinging to him like some kind of leech, then that's his business. He can handle her. From the looks of things, he certainly doesn't need my help.

Though I know it's useless, I say anyway, "See you guys later."

Heero looks at me. Relena does not.

Turning, I adjust my bag and continue walking, my previous elation worn down to nothing.

We're going to have to move again. All because she found us. The damn selfish bitch. She doesn't even realize the danger she puts Heero in every time she follows him. She's an OZ magnet. They'll follow her. I figure by now they've all guessed the Peacecraft heiress is making a lot of odd stops at a bunch of unrelated schools. The year was almost out. We were this close to finishing it.

Great. Just great. If I could get my hands around that slender neck, I'd squeeze until her head popped off, Peacecraft or no Peacecraft.


	5. Chapter 5

The night is a dark, rich velvet, that reminds me of the blankets Father Maxwell covered the altar with at the end of the day so it wouldn't gather dust. If I could touch the air, I know it would be just as soft. So for this single moment, I stand amongst the shadowy forms of the trees, my eyes seeking the silvery, elusive ghost of the moon just beyond the leaves. Deathscythe lies at my feet, the earthy tarp I use to conceal him lying at his feet. Light gleams from every available surface, leaving an almost god-like feel about him. As much as I don't want to, I have to break the spell and get moving. We've got only a short amount of time to gather at the rendezvous point set up by Heero.

Since we hid our Gundams in separate locations, we're split up for the moment. That won't last long, however, though I actually can't say I'm thrilled about that. It's been a mad dash to get out of the school the second Heero got rid of Relena. How he did, is up for question, but I'm not going to try to figure it out. Relena Peacecraft is a sore spot for me, for more than one reason. I'm not going to go into great detail, just suffice it to say she has the power to take what I want. Or did want. Hell if I know exactly what that is anymore.

It just gets to a point where you're tired. Stupid me if I never said my feelings for Heero aloud. I just couldn't strip myself that way. I'm not a psychiatrist, but maybe that in itself is a sign. It's hard to tell. I'm just a psychotic Gundam pilot. I think a psychiatrist would take issue with that more than my screwed up love life. It's a toss up as to which is the more interesting, however.

Drawing my hand across my face, I lower my head and stare at my Gundam.

"Just you and me, Deathscythe, like it always is."

Getting us withdrawn from the school was apparently easy. I didn't ask, and Heero didn't volunteer, but I suppose I trust him. He's probably one of the best hackers I've ever met. It's unlike me to give anyone the ability to control my next move this way, but Heero honestly doesn't have a manipulative bone in his body. That's one thing I did like about him. No games. Straight-forward, focused, and dedicated. That's Heero. On the flip side, he's not in touch with his emotions, he's practically obsessed with his missions, and he tends to be very critical. But he's amazing. And beautiful. It's just not enough any longer. I couldn't make up for his lack of caring by giving more. I'd bleed myself dry.

It's not like I only now realized this. It's been there, at the back of my mind, for some time now. I was being a fool and ignoring it. I'm good at ignoring the things I don't like. Maybe I thought this whole school thing could last longer. Maybe I thought some time alone together would make a difference. Maybe I don't even know __what__ I thought. Seeing him with Relena just stirred it all up and shoved it to the surface. Slapped me in the face, I guess. It was time to quit being blind. I don't know if Heero will ever find it in him to feel something for another person. He's never been given that chance. And I'm not sure I'm the right person to teach him.

Not that it hurts any less. Giving up has never been my style. But I've tried everything short of throwing myself at him to get him to notice. I've got some pride. There's no way I'm lowering myself so far as to do that. It brings to mind the image of Relena, and the way she clings to him with such desperation. As if he's her anchor, the only thing that keeps her from sinking. I'm too independent for that. I need to be a separate person outside of a relationship. I'd feel cornered and smothered otherwise. Besides, we're in the middle of a war. It really isn't the time for this.

Yeah, but try telling that to these stupid feelings I still have and can't turn off as easily as I'd like to.

I'll get over it. I'll survive. After all, I've done it before. I've lived through worse pain. In comparison, this is mild. I'm probably doing myself a favor in the long run. Better to let it go now before it's too late and I'm in over my head. Maybe if I thought it could ever be different, I'd take that risk. But we've been fighting for a long time now, and things between Heero and I haven't changed. As selfish as it sounds, I deserve more. When this is all over, I deserve to have someone who could care for me as much as I could them. It's give and take. There's no way to measure it, but when the costs far outweigh the benefits, discontentment sets in and someone gets hurt. I'd just as soon that not be me.

Well, I think that's enough exploration of the depths of my soul. Any deeper, and I might start to frighten you. That, and I need to get out of here. If I'm late, Heero'll chastise me for being irresponsible. You can always count on Heero for those wonderful lectures. Nevermind, they only consist of a few words said in a near monotone. They're quite effective.

Hefting myself up along Deathscythe's torso, I skirt across his massive chest and slid easily into the cockpit. It feels good to be here. Familiar, and oddly comforting. The darkness seems to add another element to that, and I have Heero to thank for it. He insisted we leave late at night to keep from being noticed. Made perfect sense to me, so I didn't challenge it. Whatever he is, Heero's a brilliant tactician. I've seen his skills put to work before, and that's enough for me. Nothing can beat a first hand account. It makes all the difference.

My fingers fly rapidly across the keys, pressing in perfect confidence and the knowledge that I know what I'm doing. Lights flash on in answer to my ministrations as Deathscythe comes alive around me. The warmth and hum of the machinery is like a greeting, as if my Gundam is happy to see me. Calm settles in, my thoughts of before fleeing as Shinigami pushes to take control. This place is recognizable to him. It's where he lives, and I sleep. But right now, he isn't needed.

"Not now," I murmur aloud, eyes narrowing as I examine the scroll of coordinates on my radar.

The meeting place isn't far from here. About fifteen miles at the most. I guess Heero so mistrusted the arrival of Relena with regards to what she might unknowingly bring with her, he wanted to discuss our next move someplace secret and secluded. It'll probably be another school we'll go to, where we can finish out the year. After that, I think we'll go our separate ways. I know we all have things we want to do. Things that don't have anything to do with the rest of us. I only wonder why we waited so long. Why we've spent this much time together. No, I know why I have. To keep from being alone just a little bit longer.

Working quickly, I pull Deathscythe to an upright position and then get him on his feet. I can't tell you the connection I feel as I do this. I've never considered my Gundam a separate entity. I doubt I ever will. He's my partner. We fight together, so that the lines of division are so blurred I sometimes doubt they're even there. Dangerous to get so attached to something, but I'm a better pilot for it. Right now, that's all that counts. I've got something I came here to do, and nothing short of death is going to keep me from it. Duo Maxwell doesn't make promises he can't keep. And the promise I made was to myself.

Lift off is easy, and I circle the trees a few times, stirring up brush that falls to make my Gundam's place of rest less noticeable. With that behind me, I rise higher, reaching for the stars and racing the moon. It keeps pace with me. I expect nothing less, but the thrill of it fills me with the same elation that gripped me the first time I saw the sky from Earth instead of L2. The beauty is never lost on me, because I don't want to take it for granted. If the time comes that I ever lay dying, this is the image I want to ride with me to the grave.

The night around me is a swirl of shadows as I part the air. I rely on my sensors to guide me. They're my eyes, something that took some getting used to when I first flew. It's difficult to accept mapping your sight by machinery, instead of your own vision. Now, like most things you do over and over again, it's become reflex. It's as natural as anything else is. Just another part of being a Gundam pilot.

Deathscythe gives a sudden lurch, cutting off my thoughts.

Frowning, I glance at the monitor, reviewing the diagnostics. Something isn't right. His formation is off. It's like he's trying to fly on his side, rather than straight. It's a fight to keep him upright, and the first flash of true worry grips me. As I type rapidly on the keyboard, I begin to notice how difficult the controls are being. I have this nasty feeling they're going to lock up on me soon.

"What the hell is going on here?"

There. I've isolated it. There's something wrong with the engines. There shouldn't be, however. He was in perfect shape when I last left him. That was just a few days back. I ran diagnostics on him right after the mission to make certain he wasn't damaged. I'm always thorough. I couldn't have missed this.

Whatever the case, I've got to land. I'm not going to risk being in the air any longer, not with the threat of crashing hanging over my head. The last thing I want is to tear him up or myself, for that matter.

"Shit..."

Connecting my frequency to the other Gundam's, I say, "Guys, I've got a problem."

Silence. Then, Heero says, "What's wrong, Duo?"

"Something's up with Deathscythe's engines. I've got to make an emergency landing and check it out."

No inquiry as to how serious it is. Only, "How long will this take?"

I sigh. "Gee, Heero, I dunno," I reply, the sarcastic bite in my tone unmistakable, "I haven't had the chance to look at the engines yet."

"Fine. Keep us notified. We'll go on ahead without you. If you don't contact us within the next hour, we'll assume you have made other arrangements."

It shouldn't bother me so much, the way Heero sees no problem with leaving me in the middle of no where. I know I'm a big boy and can take care of myself. Hell, that's probably what Heero's thinking. I suppose I should take it as a compliment. But just because I've decided I'm not going to care for him anymore, doesn't mean I don't want him to see me as something beyond a Gundam pilot who's only worth is what he can contribute to the mission.

"Heero, don't you think someone should go with him?"

Quatre. I smile. Leave it to him.

"Something might go wrong," the blonde pilot continues. I can almost see the wheels turning in Heero's head. He's probably wondering how much time this will waste, how much attention it could draw to us, and how much of a liability I've just become to them. Maybe I know him better than I thought. Funny, the reality isn't comforting.

"Look, I'll be fine," I say. I don't want to inconvenience anyone.

"Quatre is right. I'll go with Maxwell."

Wufei? Now is finally his chance to get rid of me, and he's volunteering to spend countless hours with me? There's no telling how long repairs will take, if I even __have__ the necessary parts to begin with. I swear, he gets stranger by the day. First he pounds some guys for me, puts up with me the rest of the day, and then meets me for breakfast in the morning. If I didn't know better, I'd have to say he's starting to like me. And as much as I would like to deny I need help, I do feel better for having someone with me.

"That will further separate us," Heero intones.

"Quatre and Trowa have missions tomorrow. I am the most logical choice," Wufei points out. "It's a simple matter to contact any of you in order to find where you've taken up residence."

You have to love Wufei's logic. Aside from Heero, he's the most rational person I know. Actually, most times, it gets on my nerves. I don't think either of them have a spontaneous bone in their bodies, or have ever done anything without planning it through completely. Right now, however, as the malfunction with Deathscythe seems to be getting worse, I really don't want to contemplate their anal retentive tendencies.

"I'm going to land about two miles from my present location. According to this map I pulled up, it's pretty dense forest. I should be able to conceal him easily," I speak up.

"Go with him then, Wufei," Heero adds. "The rest of us will continue to the designated rendezvous point."

Don't you feel privileged, Wufei? Heero gave you permission.

I'm well on my way. Regardless of what they finally decide, I'm ready to set my baby down. The dark tangle of forest coming up on my radar is exactly the one I want. Landing will be tricky, but I think I can manage it with minimal damages. In the meantime, I'm not worried about Wufei being able to find me. He has an amazing sense of direction.

Coming down is rough. It jars me, jerking me against the restraints and knocking me around a bit. Grimacing, I take a calming breath and run a quick check again. It's still bad. Maybe worse. I don't know for sure, but I think it has something to do with the wiring. At least I hope. That's easy to take care of. Getting parts is going to require a bit more finesse on my part. Or Wufei's. Since he's on his way. I seriously hope he doesn't have any lectures for me on how to take better care of your Gundam. I don't need to hear it. I take perfect care of mine.

"I'm at the location where Deathscythe was concealed. Direct me from there," Wufei says suddenly, causing me to jerk toward the sound of his voice, and make me glad I hadn't cut the engines yet.

"About a mile and a half north of there. Got it yet?"

Now, this is going to sound strange, but Wufei just earned a few more points. He called my Gundam Deathscythe. Not 'your Gundam', or just plain 'Gundam'. He acknowledged my Gundam has a name, and meaning to me. Heero never did that. Despite having dubbed his own Wing, he never once called Deathscythe by his name. I can't say why that matters to me. It just does. I don't suppose I always have to make sense. There isn't much fun in being predictable.

"I have it. I will be arriving shortly," Wufei answers, cutting off the connection between our comm units.

Pressing my lips into a thin line, the frown between my brows deeply etched, I glance around the cockpit. This is going to be tricky. It's dark, I'm in the middle of nowhere, and I'm not entirely certain what exactly __is__ wrong with my Gundam. What really gets me, is that I know he was at one hundred percent when I left him the other night. I covered him completely and tightly. No one should have been able to find him to tamper with. If they had the skill to find him to begin with, I doubt they would have left Deathscythe there like that.

I suppose a small animal could have climbed up in the engine. In which case, I'm going to have a gross mess on my hands. That's one of the hazards of concealing your Gundam out in the wilderness I guess. The prospect of finding something like that does not thrill me, however. But I've done enough stalling. I've got a flashlight around here somewhere. I'll shut Deathscythe down and at least wait for Wufei before I get out and start poking around. Because I'm feeling uneasy, I'll stuff my handgun in the waistband of my pants and take it with me.

The air above me suddenly shudders with the warning of an incoming mobile suit. That has to be Wufei. He got here in no time at all. Which is really no big surprise. Like I said, Wu has a great sense of direction. Yeah, the maps help, but some people just seem to have a built in compass. I get along well enough. I've traveled by myself for so long, I've had to learn how to get around. But given the choice, I'd rather not be plunked down in the middle of nowhere and told to navigate my way out with nothing but my internal sense of direction.

Flashlight gripped firmly in one hand, gun tucked securely at my side, I open the cockpit door and climb onto the platform. Nataku has landed a few feet away from me and is already going through the process of shutting down. It was difficult with the lack of control, but I managed to get Deathscythe to sit down, making it easier for me to take a look at him. The less climbing I've got to do anyway, the better.

"What's up with you buddy?" I ask him quietly, not expecting an answer. Though, one would be nice.

Wufei climbs onto his own platform, immediately grasping the cable to lower himself to the ground. I stay where I am, surveying the area from above. It's an interesting feeling. I have to savor it, since I doubt I'll ever get the chance to stand above Wufei again.

Grinning to myself, I grab my own cable, pressing the button on the grip to take me slowly to the ground. As I lower, I'm acutely aware of how silent it is here. Not even the music of crickets interrupts the complete lack of sound. Something about that bothers me. It seems a bit off. Shouldn't there be __some__ kind of noise? I mean, we're out in the middle of the forest, a place filled with bugs and animals and God-only-knows what else.

Subdued, I scan the area around me. I can't see much of anything except what's close to me. I'd give just about anything to have night vision like animals do. I hate the thought that something can be staring at me, yet I can't stare back. Maybe I'm just paranoid. After all, Wufei and I are the intruders here. The arrival of our Gundam's is probably reason enough to put all the inhabitants of the forest on edge.

My feet touch the ground. I release the cable, watching it sway with the wind before I turn my attention to Wufei.

Wufei doesn't look pleased, but he doesn't look displeased either. I'll take that as a good sign.

Folding his arms across his chest, Wufei glances up at the motionless form of Deathscythe. "You are having engine problems?"

I nod. "Yeah. I don't know why, though. He was just fine when I left him after last mission. My only guess is that some animal got up in there, or someone tampered with it. But if that happened, you'd think they would have done more damage or tried to run off with him."

"Humans are not creatures known for making sense," Wufei responds, stepping away from me to move in closer.

I'm wondering if that was a barb directed toward me.

"Thanks for coming, by the way," I tell him, ignoring his comment as I follow him around to the other side of Deathscythe.

"Someone had to. There was as chance you would get stranded. I was the only one without something to do," he answers succinctly, the way he says it suggesting it was nothing more than that.

I can't tell you how warm that makes me feel inside. The concern oozing from that statement is enough to put me into shock. Lord spare me from emotionless Gundam pilots. I've had it about up to __here__ with them. Here, being my neck. Though, at times, I'd rather wring __their__ necks.

"Right. Whatever. In any case, after he's had time to cool down, I'm going to crawl up in there."

Wufei nods, and turns. This time, I notice his sword strapped to his side. Apparently, getting out here makes him no less cautious than it does me. Considering how careful Wufei always is, however, that doesn't raise much alarm in me. He would probably carry that damn sword to the grocery store.

Now, we sit and wait. I'm not very good at waiting, as I've mentioned before. I get impatient. Since I don't like being out here, in an unfamiliar place after dark, it's even worse. Rather than sit still, I pace, trying to work off some of this excess energy. I doubt I can sit down and remain there anyway. Wufei, however, has taken up residence on a nearby rock. He's not moving. He's just sitting there, calmly, looking like he hasn't got a care in the world. How does he do that? No wait, he took out a book. He carries a book on his person? Wonders never cease.

"What're you reading?" I venture, throwing the flashlight from hand to hand, trying to see how long I can keep up before I drop it.

He doesn't even look up. "A book on Chinese mythology."

"Cool."

Wu looks up this time. "Maxwell, are you even remotely interested?"

I blink. "Well, yeah, why not?"

He stares at me evenly for a few moments, expression unwavering. "Then come over here. You're distracting me. I'll read aloud to you to keep you still."

That sounds far more entertaining than juggling a single flashlight.

"Mighty nice of you."

"I am doing it for my sanity, not your entertainment."

Resting the urge to stick my tongue out at him, I start over.

The hairs on the back of my neck raise.

Something is watching me.

I freeze in mid-stride, jerking my head around. A shot explodes from the darkness. Out of instinct, I twist. I'm not fast enough, however, because something tears across my arm, leaving a sharp explosion of pain in its wake. It's too fast to process anything. My entire body is alive and flooding with adrenaline, and all I can think is someone is out there, trying to kill me. I've got no cover. There's not enough time to make it to my Gundam. I'm probably going to die. Just as well... Though I would have rather died in Deathscythe.

"Get down, you fool!" Wufei snarls, and slams into me from the side just as another shot tears over our heads.

We hit the ground hard. My elbow strikes a solid object, probably a rock, and the impact travels up the entire length of my arm, exploding in my brain like a thousand brilliant flashes. The air is driven from my lungs in one massive blast, and the only thing I can feel as we lie there, is the solid warmth of Wufei's body covering mine and the mingling beat of our pounding hearts. Someone wanted us out of our Gundams. Someone wants us dead. And I think I know who I can blame for this.

"We need to make it to our Gundams," Wufei's voice is warm and sharp in my ear, the coiled tension in his muscles only vaguely translating into his words.

"We can try..." I answer on a near gasp as I try to catch my breath.

"When I say." He replies, then moves slowly, leaving the chill of the air to replace his body as he slithers along the ground.

I have this feeling we won't make it. This person isn't going to want us to reach our Gundams. That would mean escape.

I'm aware of the pain in my arm again, so I close my hand around it, coming up with the warmth of blood on my fingertips. It's just a scratch though. Had I been even a second slower, it would have went right through my arm. Instead, it probably found its way into some nearby tree. I'm damn lucky. Let's see just how long my luck holds out.

"Now!" Wufei hisses, and leaps to his feet, propelling himself into motion.

I'm much slower getting up, enough so that he's ahead of me, enough so that I'm not anywhere near him when another bullet comes at us. The sudden fear that grips me is suffocating. Funny, but it's not for me. I'm frightened only because I think Wufei might have been shot. He's not moving. He's just standing still.

"Fuck!" I spit out, not caring now. I keep going. Another shot. It flashes past my ear, taking off the corner of my lower lobe. Damn. That stings like a bitch.

I barrel into Wufei from behind, half-dragging, half-running with him into a nearby bush. We didn't even make it close enough to our Gundams to risk riding the cables up. And, as we fall into the bushes, a sticky wetness covers my hands, that isn't my own. Shock rips across my skin, leaving me cold.

My God, Wufei has been shot.


	6. Chapter 6

The silence is deafening in the absence of the gunfire. It makes everything else that much louder, more noticeable. The harsh rasp of our breaths. The hard press of the ground beneath us. The hiss of the air in our ears. The rough beat of our hearts. It's too much noise. I'm paranoid that whoever is shooting at us will hear one or more of them and find us before I can figure out where Wufei is hurt. And it's so damn dark, I can barely see my own hand in front of my face, much less any part of Wufei's body.

As I roll away from him, reach out, my movements seem too slow, like they were when he got shot. I grasp the edge of his clothing, feel along the curve of his ribs, seeking his sight of injury, hoping it isn't bad. Our situation isn't exactly great right now. We're cornered rats, with no clear notion as to where our enemy is and when the next shot will be coming. This is frightening, but I haven't got time for fear right now. I'm too busy being pissed. Pissed at Relena for leading this bastard to us, and pissed because said bastard had the gall to miss me and take a cheap shot at Wufei.

My hands drop lower, find the flare of his hip and the warmth of his upper thigh. No blood yet. Only the blood already staining my hands. Wherever the hell this injury is, I at least know it isn't near any areas that could be potentially fatal. Nothing along his leg, so I navigate my way blindly still, coming across something round, yet strong. It only occurs to me after Wufei suddenly jerks away, that I was essentially feeling up his behind. Amazing, too, how I have the time to feel embarrassed enough about that I flush. Of all the stupid things to do in the middle of a life threatening situation... I have to think about how nice of a butt Wufei has.

"Stop it!" Wufei hisses, shoving me away.

"Keep still," I snap back, my tone a little more than strained. It's not everyday you get shot at, and notice one of your friends in a completely different way. "We can't be seen, or the next place we'll be is six feet under, pushing up daises."

"I'm well aware of that," he returns, his words oddly hitched.

My anxiety softens some. The guy's obviously in pain. He's just man enough not to show it. Sometimes, I could just pound Wufei and Heero's heads together. They're such macho Neanderthals with brains. Let me tell you, that right there, is more dangerous than a Neanderthal without two brain cells to rub together.

"Where're you hit?" I ask, my voice still at a whisper, but loud enough to hear since we're so close.

"My arm... I'll be fine," he answers, his voice lacking the usual bite.

"We need to at least stop the bleeding. I don't know how long we'll be out here. I don't want you bleeding to death."

Lord no. After all Wufei's done for me in the last few days, I hardly want to repay him by letting him die. Though, something tells me he's too stubborn to die. Wufei is a fighter, and he isn't going to let anything bring him low, least of all some measly bullet. At least he better not. I'm not going to be happy if he lets himself waste away out here. But I wonder, as I hear a tearing sound that signifies the destruction of clothing, whether it's for him, or me.

"No time to think about that now, Maxwell..." I mutter.

"What?" Wufei asks.

"Nothing. Need help?"

"No."

I roll my eyes. No, of course not. Why would Mr. 'I-have-to-do-everything-alone' need __my__ help? He's obviously quite capable. I'm certain he can find the sniper, fix Deathscythe, heal his own wound, and get out of here without any aid from me. I might as well just sit back and let Superman take care of it all for us.

He doesn't cry out, but the sudden sharp intake of breath tells me he's in pain. Something falls from his hand and hits the ground next to me. He snatches it back up, the gesture appearing angry even in the dark. Lying next to him, I wonder how long I'll let him suffer before I take it from him. At the rate he's going, he'll be lucky __to__ get it on before he bleeds to death.

He drops it again. My patience runs out. Not that I ever had much to begin with. And being shot at has pretty much sucked my reserve dry.

"Give me that," I say irritably, snatching it from him.

Rising carefully to a sitting position, I take the arm that he has out in front of him, and quickly wrap the piece of cloth around his wound. There's a lot of blood. But I don't want to concentrate on that right now. There's nothing I can do for it, other than this. I just hope Wufei stays with me and doesn't pass out.

"I could have managed myself," he says quietly.

"Yeah, right. I saw you doing real well there."

Ignoring that, he looks past me and out into the small clearing where our Gundams sit. I know he's looking for the sniper, but I also know he isn't going to find anything. Snipers are notoriously patient. They're trained to stay in the same position, no matter what the weather, until their targets get tired and venture into their line of sight. Too bad for this particular one, he (or she, as the case may be) doesn't happen to be dealing with ordinary people. We've had some pretty intense training ourselves, and both of us are as stubborn as Satan with a handful of souls. We aren't moving. Not until we can figure out exactly where we're moving __to__.

Now that I know Wufei isn't going to die on me, I'm feeling much calmer. Not the calm that comes with security. Rather, the calm that steals over me when I'm piloting Deathscythe. Shinigami. I need him here, to keep me steady, to keep me alive. I know I'm going to need his ruthlessness. We aren't going to get out of here until one of us dies. If I have my way, it'll be whoever was chicken shit enough to refuse to face us in our Gundams. No, instead, he chose to hunt us down from afar, where he could remain safe. The most underhanded way of fighting, and the most deadly.

Wufei seems calm. But then, Wufei is always calm. Unless he's in Nataku. I wonder if he can summon up the fighting spirit we're going to need to survive, but then I remember the way he disposed of Dumb and Dumber, and the carefully controlled expression on his face, while his eyes silently burned, as he was doing so. Aside from Heero, I don't think I could have found a better person to get hunted with.

Putting it that way, it sounds pretty damn amusing.

Wufei shifts, and I catch a brief glimpse of his face now that my eyes have adjusted to the dark again.

"Did the bullet pass through?"

He looks at me. His eyes are darker than the shadows.

"Yes. Through bone."

I wince. He __is__ something else. He's got a broken arm and a nice wound, and he hasn't complained or cried out once. It makes my little scratch, and the fact that I'm missing the lower half of my ear, seem insignificant in comparison. So, no complaining from me. Chances are, I'll get my moment to get shot again sometime before the night ends. Or my life ends. Either way, I can take it if Wufei can. There's no way he's going to see me in pain. I'll never live it down. If I live at all, that is.

I keep talking about death here quite carelessly, as if I'm either not frightened to die, or want to die. Neither is the case. I'm just using some humor to keep the gravity of the situation from wearing down on me. I decided a long time ago, after trying to take my own life, that I'm living. Obviously, I want to if I'm fighting to make the world a better place and all that shit. Or outer space, I should say. I just know I __could__ die at any time, and I've accepted that. It makes it easier for me to fight.

"We need to move back," Wufei voices suddenly, interrupting my thoughts.

"You sure you're up to moving?" I ask him, fingering my bloody ear and managing not to flinch at the sting.

"I told you, I am fine. It's not as if we have any choice."

Fine. Right. He's just bleeding profusely and nursing a broken bone. Nothing wrong there.

"Slowly then. The forest gets more dense behind me. We can hole up between those trees, making it more difficult to get an accurate shot."

Wufei looks at me again, as if he's surprised something as logical as that came out of my mouth. I have been known to use my brain from time to time. I find it's useful for thinking, not just for filling the space between my ears. I just tend to keep most of my more intellectual revelations to myself. Enough of the five of us are heavy and serious, I'm simply trying to round the group out so Quatre doesn't have to feel like being cheerful is his job only.

"Fine."

Great, he agrees. That makes my entire day. As a matter of fact, it makes up for all that I'm going through at the moment. Seriously though, I don't know what it is about Wufei and Heero, that they think we need their permission to do something. If I want to do something, I'm not going to wait around for their approval. I'm just going to do it. They're apparently under the mistaken assumption that only they're allowed to make any major decisions. Last I checked, we weren't even a team with a set leader. We were sent down here to accomplish our missions separately. That we met up with each other was inevitable, yes, but not a necessity.

We pull out slowly, moving backward with our eyes to the front. I'm not overly concerned about getting shot while we're moving. Like I said, snipers are very patient people. Still, I do know that our hunter has to be somewhere close by. I don't care how good he is. You can't get decent visibility in the darkness, even if the scope on the gun has night vision capabilities. The amount of area a scope covers isn't much. You have to know where your target is to even get a decent focus. I think that's part of the reason why the only thing that saved Wufei from getting hurt worse was that he was moving. For once, I salute Heero. We screwed up the sniper's plans by leaving in the night, making his job all the more difficult.

Settling down between a mess of trees, I pretend not to notice that Wufei winces as he rests against the trunk of one. I wonder if the sniper thinks the silence will lure us into a false sense of security, so we'll go charging for our Gundams. Or, maybe he thinks Wufei has been wounded badly enough, we'll make the same mistake. I've got news for him. I can go days without food or water. I've done it before. I can stay in an uncomfortable position for a long time. I've done that before too. Regardless of whether Wufei has or not, I know he's strong enough, even wounded, and stubborn enough to attempt it. He could probably hold out past me.

"We could be here a long time," I note simply for the sake of conversation, though I'm not even looking at him.

"Your stomach will simply have to survive," he returns.

I turn my head away from the clearing, where I'm certain I can still make out the dark shapes of Nataku and Deathscythe. I don't want the bastard touching my Gundam. But then, given the convenient timing of the engine problems, I'm not so certain he hasn't already touched my Gundam. Maybe he was hoping I'd crash. No such luck there, you dumb son of a bitch. I'm a better pilot than that.

Shrugging, I say at length, "I can take it. It's not like I've never starved before."

Silent eyes assess me now. He doesn't comment, however, and I'm not going to offer. My past is my past. Talking about it isn't going to become a convenient way to pass time. If Wufei wants entertainment, then he can talk about his past. Because I know as much about his life before becoming a Gundam Pilot, as he does about mine. Neither of us are the type to spill our guts for the other to pick over. So I seriously doubt much reminiscing is going to go on here today.

Listening to the ruffle of the breeze through the tops of the trees, I strain my ears to hear anything that vaguely resembles footfalls. I don't expect a follow up attack so soon, but it can't hurt to be alert. Hours of perfect stillness are going to have to pass before the sniper even thinks of moving a few inches closer. Maybe even days.

Of course, I could be wrong. Maybe this one is the impatient type. If he was trained by OZ, however, then I seriously doubt it. Treize Kushrenada makes certain his soldiers learn everything there is to learn. I wonder if he gave the order for us to be killed this way. He's always struck me as the kind to have too much honor and respect for battle, to ever try something like this. Like Wufei. But then, he's the enemy, so maybe I'm wrong.

I have to wonder exactly what it is we're waiting for. I'm not the type to sit around doing nothing. I don't want to wait for the sniper to come to us, I want to go to him. The only problem with that is, he knows where we are. We don't know where he is. In the middle of that frenzied rush to preserve our lives, we didn't exactly have time to pinpoint a location. Which means we either wait for him to make a move, or we throw caution to the wind and go find him. Somehow, I don't think Wufei would agree to the latter.

"I have never starved before," Wufei says quietly, startling me.

I look at him. He's never struck me as the type to know what hunger really is, so that doesn't surprise me. Wufei's too cultured and intelligent. Whatever he came from, he's had plenty of time to become learned before taking up the job as a Gundam pilot. As a matter of fact, sometimes Wufei strikes me as the kind of person who would never have agreed to it to begin with. He holds too many ideals close to him, ideals that have no place in a messy war. I've always admired him for that.

Maybe we will talk a bit about our pasts after all. Wufei's opened the door, and I'm walking through. Something tells me I'll only get this one chance.

"Why'd you become a Gundam Pilot?" I ask, absently picking dirt, leaves, and small twigs out of my braid.

He shifts. I'm not certain he's going to answer me. Maybe I touched on something he doesn't want to talk about. Guess I'll have to go first then.

"I didn't want Deathscythe," I say, watching him carefully from under my eyelids. "I tried to blow him up."

This time, the look of surprise on his face is unmistakable. Apparently, I finally caught his attention. Enough so that I actually got him to change facial expressions. Go me.

"Why?" He finally asks, curiosity seeming to outweigh formality.

"I hated mobile suits. I thought Deathscythe was just going to be another thing to bring pain. But Doctor G talked me out of it. Told me about Operation Meteor and then told me to do with that information what I wanted. So I trained. And I decided I was going to make a difference my own way. I just started liking Deathscythe along the way. Got kinda attached to him."

Wufei inclines his head, examining me, as if looking for something. I wonder if it surprises him. None of us have ever came out and talked about how we got our Gundams. Maybe everyone else just assumed it was natural, that we were chosen, trained, and that was it. If you want my opinion, I think Heero was the only one who a Gundam was intended for from the beginning. He's the only one of us that seems like a complete soldier. Well, aside from Trowa. While I don't think his training was as intense, I'm willing to be he was involved in something militaristic somewhere.

"I didn't want Nataku either," he says finally. "My colony simply offered shelter to the engineer. My... there was someone there better suited to piloting her."

Her? Wufei thinks his Gundam is female? Weird. I never knew that. I call mine a male, but I think that's just macho reflex.

"So, how come you ended up with her then?" I probe, fingering the fringe at the end of my braid. His expression closes off. I touched on something he doesn't like.

"That someone died," he says tersely, his tone suggesting the subject is now closed.

My hand falls still. This 'someone', whoever the person is, obviously meant a great deal to Wufei given his reaction. But I'm not going to push. He wouldn't like it, and I know he wouldn't tell me. Wufei is not easily manipulated, nor is he easy to push around. Both could end up causing __you__ a great deal of pain. He has a low tolerance threshold.

"So," I reply then, drawing the word out, "we've established we didn't want our suits to begin with. I'm sure our Gundams really love us for that."

"They are just machines, Maxwell."

"Don't give me that, Wufei. You call your Gundam Nataku. Don't think I don't know what that means. You also think it's a female. And I __know__ you think it has personality."

He has nothing to say to that. If it wouldn't endanger us further, I'd get up and dance around. I finally zinged Wufei. It took me long enough. And in case it wasn't obvious, I'm damn proud of myself.

We fall back into that tense, not so comfortable silence, where we're both listening for something and waiting for something. I steal a glance at him, eyes tracing the angles of his face, the displeased curve of his lips, and the unreadable slant of his own eyes. Whatever he's thinking, he isn't sharing. That isn't anything new, however.

Wufei is very stingy with himself. It's taken a great deal of persistence on my part to even get to this point in our friendship. There are moments I wonder why I bother, and then he opens up just a little, reminding me. I think I've always known there was something special inside of Wufei, something he keeps from us. As much as he tries to pretend, I know he's not unfeeling inside, as Heero is.

He's just hard to reach.

Yet, for all my perceived openness, I'm no better. Any of them can think they know me, when they only know the part of me I want them to. Are we all like that? Holding some of ourselves back for protection, for reasons only known to us? You would think, of all the people on the planet, in the colonies, we ought to be able to trust each other. But trust is not something given lightly. It's earned. Funny, but I would trust these guys to cover my back in the midst of battle, yet I won't trust them with my past and all the things that make up me. How ridiculous is that anyway? It's in battle I could be killed; but it's in my heart I could be hurt. Like Wufei said, humans aren't known for making much sense.

Wufei looks directly at me. "What do you fight for?"

What do I fight for? The colonies. Don't we all have to have something to fight for? Otherwise, there isn't any purpose. We need a place to come back to, a reason to keep pressing on no matter the odds.

"The colonies. So they can be free. So no one has to live like..." I trail off. I almost said, 'like me'. I don't want to talk about my past.

Resting his head against the tree, Wufei closes his eyes. I think the loss of blood is starting to get to him. Dammit. This is frustrating. If we wait too long, who's to say Wufei won't die out here? I'll be damned if another person dies because of me.

"I fight for that someone who died," Wufei admits, his tone subdued.

"Not the colonies?"

"That too... But... her first..."

A woman? Of course Wufei would be straight. Not that it should matter to me. I'm through with anything vaguely resembling a relationship. I learned my lesson with Heero, and I just want to concentrate on this war. This war, that is fast morphing into something else every time we turn around. I'll say one thing for OZ, they like to keep us on our toes.

Still, as I look at him, I get the impression that it's more than that. Wufei values so many things dead to others. His honor, his justice, and his truth. Where can those things be found in war? What happens when you don't find them? Do you keep fighting, even though you've lost the belief? Maybe I'm lucky. I believe in truth. Maybe I even believe in honor. But I've seen too much to ever believe there is such a thing as justice. Justice wasn't there when the orphans suffered, when Solo died, and when the church was burned. So I don't fight for those things.

I fight for living, breathing humans, and I don't become disillusioned because of it. After all, I already know just how selfish, cruel, and petty they can be.

He opens his eyes again, and that tired expression is gone. What does he have, an endless inner well of strength to draw from? But he doesn't look at me. He looks out into the clearing again.

I frown faintly. "You won't see the sniper. He's holed up somewhere, waiting for us to make a mistake."

"I'm not looking for the sniper," he tells me.

"Oh yeah? Then what?"

"I am trying to determine exactly where the shots came from by the places we were standing. I am fairly certain I have it narrowed down to a small area. Considering it is night, the sniper will not be that far away. It would be impossible to take such shots from a great distance."

I stare at him for a moment, half wishing all this talking would have brought the sniper closer. But, as I've said many times already, snipers are patient creatures. And while I'm impressed, I wonder what we're going to use this information for exactly. Unless Wufei is entertaining the same thought I was earlier.

"Do you still have your gun?" He asks, looking at me now.

That pretty much confirms it.

"Yeah. I didn't even bother drawing it. I was more concerned with keeping us from dying."

He nods. "Good."

"You aren't thinking we're going to hunt this guy down and kill him ourselves, are you?" I ask, trying not to sound as enthusiastic as I am. I mean, this would mean we get to do something! No sitting around, having these nice, overly civil conversations.

"That is exactly what I am thinking. If we pull back farther, and circle around, we might stand a chance of coming up behind him."

And if we don't, we die.

Hell, sign me up. I never pay any attention to the odds anyhow.

"You sure you're up to this?"

He eyes me balefully. "If you ask me that one more time, Maxwell, I'm going to loop your braid around your neck and hang you from one of these trees."

I laugh. I can't help it. I know it brings out every ache I have, and is far louder than we should be, but I laugh anyway.

Wufei attempts to stare at me sternly, but I can see the slight smile that has curved his lips. I bet if he smiled all the way, he'd be one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen.

Whoa. Where did that thought come from?

My laughter dies, fading from my lips and my eyes, as I realize for the first time that I am attracted to Wufei. This is very bad. Right now, it's the last thing I need.

"It's not long enough," I say aloud, trying to forget.

He makes an undeterminable sound, but he's still watching me carefully, as if trying to find out what chased my laughter away. Well, he'll never know.

"Anyway, I'm for it. I'd rather die trying, than sit here waiting to die."

He inclines his head. "There is a chance this won't work."

I shrug. "So what. There's a chance everything won't work. Imagine where we'd be if no one ever tried."

"Alive," he replies, pushing to his feet.

Be still my heart. Wufei just made a funny. I think the loss of blood is getting to his brain.

I want to offer help, but I don't, knowing it would be violently rejected. He manages to make it on his own anyhow. I rise after that, not wanting him to realize that his injury has slowed him down even slightly by getting to my feet faster than him. I guess this is it then. We're ready to go.

"According to the map I studied of this area while trying to locate you, the place where the sniper possibly resides is a narrow opening of flat cliffs. We have to come out on top of those cliffs, to find him below or possibly above with us."

Wufei must have a photographic memory. In this moment, I'm glad for it.

"All right then. So we give it our best shot."

He looks at me, his expression hard. "No. Our best is not good enough. We give it all we have."

Yeah, because otherwise, we die.

So be ready, you bastard, because we're coming to make sure you die first.


	7. Chapter 7

Our feet are silent as we move through the underbrush. The air around us is redolent with the thick scent of pine and earth. I can't see the colors, but I know they're the reds, golds, and greens of fall. It's oddly comforting, so I focus on that, rather than the numbing cold that holds me in its grip. I have this half-fear I'm not even going to be able to get the gun from my waist, much less grip it with fingers that have practically lost all feeling. Man, we sure picked a shitty day to get hunted by a sniper.

Something brushes my face. Since it isn't slimy, or scaly, I figure it must be a bush of some kind. In this indeterminable span of time we've been traveling at a pace that makes a snail look like Speedy Gonzales, I've been touched, stabbed, and prodded by so many things, that I've given up reacting. I almost think getting eaten by some native creature would be preferable to this. So I'm not going to complain much if a bear comes up to me and asks if he can have me for a midnight snack. I'll just ask that he eats me head-first so that it won't be a long, drawn out process.

Wufei looks back at me again.

I think he's afraid I'll step on a twig or something and give us away. He needs to give me more credit. I didn't scream when that first bush attacked me, and I've got training and size on my side. For once I don't have any complaint to offer up for being so slight. It's easier to keep from making noise that way. Plus, he forgets I was a thief. The one thing I make no secret about. I've been perfecting the art of sneaking up unseen and unheard on people since I was no higher than an average adult's waist. Not that I can say I've grown much since then... But that's beside the point.

Everything looks the same in the dark. It's a wonder Wufei even knows where he's going. I suppose we'll find that out for sure when we finally stop. That is, if we ever get there. He's being so cautious, I'm of a mind it'll take us the entire night and well into the next day before we make it.

All joking aside, I don't think Wufei can take much more of that. I don't know how much blood he's lost, and he's doing now, and going to be doing, an awful lot to exert himself. We have no way of knowing what'll greet us when we find our friendly neighborhood sniper. And that, is both alarming and exciting. If I was alone, it'd probably be more exciting. But I've got Wufei to worry about, not just myself.

A glint flashes through the covering of trees, and I look up to catch a faint glimpse of the moon. Some days, I miss outer space. I've been away from it for so long now. But I haven't forgotten. I can close my eyes and see the vast darkness of space stretching endlessly, only broken by the occasional shuttle or the presence of a colony. It leaves you with such an overwhelming feeling. A realization of how small you are among it all. I'll go back to that eventually. Maybe by that time, the war will have ended. But I doubt it.

There are moments when I doubt it will ever end. We helped to set the ball rolling, and it's been moving ever since. Oh sure, I know we're only one element in many, but I hope we're the one that'll make the difference. I know I want it to end. I don't live and breath the mission. Not like Heero. For that, I guess I pity him. When this is all over, he'll have nothing left to go to. Maybe I don't either, but I've never really had a set place to be. I've always moved around constantly, doing one thing or another. That's the way that works best for me.

I'll ride this out for as long as it goes. So long as we need to fight, I'm there. Until the end, whichever way it goes, lose or win, I'll keep fighting. For the colonies, for myself... for the others, for the ghosts in my past. It's all I can do, and it's all I want to do. It's been a long haul since the beginning, and something tells me it's only going to get longer. But I can take that. I like a good challenge. There simply hasn't been one made Duo Maxwell won't tackle. Which is probably why I'm crazy enough to agree with Wufei while we, two frozen, injured Gundam pilots, hunt an adversary we can't see, let alone be certain of finding.

Holding back a sigh, I detach my braid from yet another bush, and hurry to catch up with Wufei. Not that I need to hurry __that__ far. I think I've mentioned how impatient I am. Going in slow and easy is not my style. I like to know what I'm doing, and then just do it. My favorite example of this is throwing myself in the middle of enemy suits. Of course, I __do__ have my hyper jammers on my side, so it's not as if I'm completely reckless and irresponsible. I only want to jump right into the action. What can I say, it's all part of my charm. Not that either Wufei or Heero will agree with me on that. I think my charm has either worn thin on them, or it was never working to begin with.

Don't mistake me. I'm as aware of my surroundings as I can be, limited by the night. I listen for every sound, am careful of where I put my feet, and have Wufei in my line of sight at all times. My mind has a tendency to wander wherever it likes when I'm not talking. It doesn't bother to ask me if I like it, so there isn't much I can do about it. Which, as I'm sure you've guessed, is why I subject everyone around me to so many conversations, pointless or otherwise. I'm not too fond of deep thinking, and relaxation for me equals boredom. So while Heero may be content to sit on his computer all day, or Wufei to read his books, it would kill me to remain still for so long.

Man. I sure get repetitive when I'm antsy. I think I've lost count on the amount of times I've mentioned my inability to cease all movement for long lengths of time.

Wufei jerks to stop so suddenly, I almost run into him. By the way he keeps glancing around, I think he heard something. I didn't. Brows furrowing, I trace the path ahead of us with my eyes, and then slowly fan out, trying to catch any signs of movement. Whatever he's focusing on, he isn't saying. Not that I expect him to. For all I know, Wufei considers me a tag-along, not an active part of this little hunting party. He is prone to taking charge without asking, and to doing everything on his own. Well, I got news for him. I'm the one with the gun. He isn't getting it, so I'd better get some answers.

He turns back to look at me. There's a tightness to his eyes, and a pallid hue to his face that tells me he's in pain. It can't be comfortable walking around with a broken arm. We need to splint it to keep it immobile. Even if it's just with a few twigs or something. I suppose we could make a sling out of his jacket.[1] He'd freeze, but since he got shot in the upper arm, the splint won't do much good unless he's got the sling. Now, all that remains is getting him to agree. I doubt we're in much danger here. We're in a highly dense area, and as long as he didn't hear anything, we should be safe to stop for a few minutes. I'm going to insist on it, whether he likes it or not.

"What?" I ask quietly.

He shakes his head. "Nothing."

Nothing? Yeah, right.

"Did you hear something?" I press, not willing to accept that for an answer.

"No." Then, after a short pause in which I think he's having difficulty explaining himself to me (Imagine that, Chang Wufei having to explain himself), he says, "I want to make certain we're going in the right direction."

"Ah." How comforting.

It could be worse. I could be navigating.

"So, we're relatively safe?" I venture.

He doesn't answer at first. He looks around him instead.

"As much as we can be. Why?"

"Take your coat off," I instruct him, bending over to sample the various offerings left by the trees.

When I rise, Wufei is standing in the same spot, unmoving, and staring at me like I've grown a third eye.

"Oh come on," I say in exasperation, "I'm not making a move on you or something. I want to make a sling."

No, if I was making a move on him, he'd know it. Like most things, I don't do that half-way.

Before Wufei averts his face, I almost think I saw a flash of embarrassment. Not possible. I must be imagining things. Nothing embarrasses the intractable Chang Wufei. Especially not some harmless comment about me making a move on him. Or is it so harmless? The bit of warmth that thought creates in me takes me by surprise. Either the stress of the situation is really starting to get to me, or I'm just realizing for the first time that Wufei cuts a rather nice figure, and his lips look pretty damn kissable. Soft and almost pouty, because he has a habit of pursing them in disapproval all the time.

Right. I've lost it.

Enough so that __my__ cheeks are the ones burning.

"We don't have time for this, Maxwell."

My head jerks up. "Sure we do. You've got all the time in the world when you've no where to go but down."

The flat line of his lips, and the slight narrowing of his eyes tells me he didn't find that comment funny.

"I don't need a sling. We need to get moving."

I hold the sticks up. "I didn't remember asking you what you wanted. Now either get that coat off and give me your arm, or we'll just sit here until our friend finds us."

"Maxwell..." he growls, and I know I've pushed the limit when he sounds pissed.

Just my luck I live to step over the line.

"Yes, Chang?" I ask in mock hauteur, inclining my head.

Besides, I figure I have nothing to lose. I'm already marked to die. Maybe that's what makes me so brave. If we get out of here alive, he'll probably make life hell for me for a while. Wufei doesn't like being mocked.

"We really do not have time for this," he hisses, fumbling with his buttons.

I step up to him, balancing the good-sized twigs between my legs. "Allow me."

Without waiting for him to answer, I begin undoing the buttons of his jacket as quickly as I can with my stiff fingers.

I almost missed the look of startlement on his face, but not the stiff set of his body. I know for a fact that Wufei doesn't like having his personal space invaded. I don't know if it's because he has an aversion to being touched, or just doesn't want anyone getting close.

"What are you doing?"

Since it would be cruel of me to take advantage of one of the very few stupid remarks Wufei has ever made, I'll find some other way to bug him.

"Like you said, we don't have time for this. So, I'm helping you."

He makes a displeased sound, but he doesn't push my hands away.

I realize this is the first time I've been this close to Wufei. It's oddly disconcerting. I'm aware of the warmth coming from his body as I get down to the last of the buttons, and for some reason, it only now hits me. We really could __die__. This could be the last moment I see Wufei alive, and it rattles me. How vulnerable, how fragile we are without our Gundams as shields. Yet, I'm not afraid to face death. I'm just afraid I'll take Wufei down with me. I don't need any more blood on my hands.

I smile, though I don't want to, as I pull away. "All done!"

Wufei watches me closely for a few seconds, and I'm afraid he sees past my mask.

But he only says, "Thank you."

Which just about shocks the hell out of me. Expressing his gratitude is not something Wufei is big at. He'd rather not be in debt in the first place.

"You're welcome. Uh... need help getting it off?" I volunteer.

He shakes his head, and I'm forced to watch as he struggles out of it, wincing in pain only once when he slides his injured arm from its sleeve.

Producing the sticks, I say, "Place your arm up near your chest."

He does so, dark eyes watching me the entire time. I don't know why, but it makes me feel self-conscious.

As I slide the first twig behind his arm, my fingers brush across his skin. It's smooth, save for the bumps that signify his reaction to the cold air against bare flesh. I really am something else. I decide I don't like one guy, and then like another, all in the span of one day. Either I'm fickle, or I just don't know what the hell it is I want. Probably both. Good thing I have no intentions of acting on these feelings and ruining our friendship, nor putting myself in another awkward position. Wufei won't become a replacement for Heero. That would not be fair to either of us.

"Here, hold this other one in place. I need something to secure them..." I murmur, wondering what in the world I'm going to use.

"Take the sash at my waist off. It will have to do," he answers quietly.[2]

I look down. A blue one. It ties in the back, so I have to reach both arms around Wufei, careful not to touch him as if I'm trying to embrace him. He remains remarkably still, even as I work to get the knot undone and try to keep from touching any place else. When I get it undone, I do the best I can not to hurt him further as I tie it on. It's only one, but it'll have to do. With the sling securing his arm to his chest, there won't be too much danger of the splint coming undone. We just need it to keep the broken bone immobile. Less pain that way.

"How's that?" I ask, backing away.

"It will suffice," he tells me, and I almost make a face. So much for the disturbing mood the closeness brought. Wufei seems perfectly fine. Another reason why I'd be better to keep my mouth shut, and keep my distance. This is real life. Not a soap opera.

"Okay," I say far more cheerfully than I feel, "let's sling you up."

No reaction. Well, guess Wufei didn't like my pun. Not that I can blame him. It was kind of lame... But damn, trying to get him to lighten up is a tough job.

Securing his jacket so that his arm rests in the sling as much as it can, I slide the sling under his other arm and around his back. He's slim enough that I both sleeves fit around him, with some still left over. It's not the best looking get-up, but as Wufei said, it'll suffice. It keeps his arm from moving, and holds it in place. That'll work for about as long as we need it to. Unless things get a bit rough. I suppose we'll deal with that when we come to it.

"Let's go."

Right. I guess one 'thank you' is all I'm going to get.

Without waiting for me, he turns, continuing on. Apparently, he found his bearings, because he doesn't seemed to be too concerned about whether or not he's going in the right direction anymore. Or maybe he just figures we stood around enough, the sniper will be bound to find us no matter what direction we go in. That would be fine by me. I'm getting tired of all this. I'd rather he just get out in the open so we can get it all over with. Which has a snowball's chance in hell of actually happening.

The rate at which we're moving has picked up. For that, I have to feel some pride. It looks like Wufei's arm was slowing him down some. If I hadn't thought to patch him up, we'd still be moving slowly, and he'd still be in great pain. I'll have to be careful, however. Pat myself on the back any harder, and I'll break __my__ arm.

We settle back into our alert silence. I miss the conversation already, even if it wasn't particularly productive. I'm one of those people that believes you need not be productive all the time. Life is also about having as much fun as you can get from it. The last thing I want, when I look back, is to wish I could have lived differently. That's part of the reason why I'm fighting.

I slant Wufei another glance. Yet, again, I won't take the same steps in my personal life. Call me a hypocrite, call me scared. Maybe I'm both. Right now, I have an out, and I'm taking it. This isn't the time to be thinking about something like this. And I'll leave it at that.

Shadows bleed into one another, and then abruptly, give way to a clearing. We pause at the edge. Like Wufei said, it's a narrow ridge, formed by layers of rock. We're above it, however, and if there's anything below, we can't yet see. I'm suddenly more alert than I've been the entire time traveling here, and almost without thinking, my hand strays to the gun at my waist. If the sniper is somewhere around here, we're going to find him. And end this. One way or another.

Wufei falls back next to me. His words are barely above a whisper, and I have to lean in to catch them. His warm breath fans across my cheek, and I fight to keep from reacting. "The sniper could be here anywhere. Or perhaps not at all. I may be wrong."

I shrug, unconcerned. But my muscles are stretched so tautly, I can feel the scratch across my arm protesting.

"We'll find out soon enough."

And that's it. We won't be talking any longer.

I've got the gun. I've also got the least serious injuries, so I'm the one that's going to take the risk. We aren't going to accomplish anything by standing around. If it means getting shot, well then it means getting shot. If that's stupid, then it's stupid. If I can at least lure the sniper out, then Wufei'll have a chance to get him. I know he'll find the bastard if I can draw his fire. I just hope the place I get shot isn't fatal. I don't actually want to die quite yet. I've still got a lot to do. I didn't keep from killing myself so that I could die a few short years later.

"God, you're a crazy bastard," I mutter to myself, and then, I motion to Wufei that I'm going near the ledge.

My gun is drawn before he can express the fact that he doesn't agree. Too bad. I didn't ask his permission.

Dropping low, gun pointed at the ground as I go, I move out into the open. My braid slaps casually against my leg as I go, and I'm so low to the ground, my knee is nearly brushing it. I feel naked, as if a thousand eyes are on me, yet I can't see them. But it's dark. That isn't as bad as it could be. I've got some cover, so I'd better not waste it. No, I shouldn't waste this slim chance I've got to draw all attention to me and keep it from Wufei. I think he'd probably kill me himself if he knew what I was doing. Because, admittedly, it is pretty stupid. But I like doing dumb things.

Everything is loud to me. The light brush of the grass against my legs, the thudding of my heart, and the faint rustle of air through the trees. My heart is so loud, I almost fear the sniper will hear it and be tipped off. If my luck holds, he'll still by lying down below the ledge. There's only one way to find out, and as I drop to one knee just on the edge of rock, I pull my gun higher. One peek would be all it takes. I brace myself on one arm, and try to keep my breathing steady. I don't want to screw this up.

There's a sharp crack.

The bullet slams into my shoulder with enough force to knock me off balance. As I'm adjusting to the shock of it, the searing fire eating me alive beneath the skin, I'm falling head first over the ledge. It seems to happen so slowly, as if my body is clinging to air. I flip once, my arms flailing out in front of me. It's funny the things you notice, but I'm still holding on to my gun. I catch a brief glimpse of my knuckles, stretched white from the strain, before rock flashes out in front of me, and it's all I can see.

The ground rushes up on me suddenly. The soundless vacuum I was falling in bursts, as I hit rock with enough force to drive the air from my lungs. My back arches as I gasp silently, and my grip on the gun loosens. It skitters across the rocks away from me, and vaguely, outside the pain, I hear it. The full of it sweeps across me, stealing my vision for one moment, so that all I can see is black. I frantically try to claw my way out of it, fighting the need to give in. I can't let go. I have to focus on the pain or we'll both be dead.

I knew this was a stupid idea.

Tears spill from my eyes. I can't stop them. My body needs to release the agony somehow, and at the moment, I can't move. Nothing cooperates for me. Yet, I can feel the sticky wetness of blood seeping down my side. It's warm, taking the chill from the air. But I still can't move. And the panic that siezes me is like static screwing up my brain waves. I scream at myself to get up, but the words won't come out. I still haven't regained my breath. And if I can't move... if somehow I've injured my back in the fall, then I don't want to survive. Because then, I'd be nothing.

My eyes sweep shut.

I guess I was wrong about the location of the sniper.

I hope to God that Wufei is all right. Yeah... here I am, praying to the God of Life. But I figure, right now, we need him.

My breath suddenly comes back to me in one painful gasp, and I rise off the ground, nearly choking on it.

That was unexpected.

There is no time to be thankful for it, however, because something moves just to my left. It hurts like hell, but I throw myself back down and roll. A bullet strikes the area where I was laying. My shell-shocked brain can only register the fact that I'm being shot at. But as I roll again, and avoid another hit, I realize that there has to be two of them. Last I checked, teleportation was a thing of the very distant future. And you know, it's too bad I just so happened to roll away from my gun.

"Having fun?" I spit out, flattening myself against the wall, as far back in the shadows as I can get.

"No more than you," a voice answers back, after a moment's hesitation.

A woman. The sniper, or at least one of them, is a woman. It'd be laughable if I wasn't in such an awkward position at the moment. And here I was, calling the sniper a man the entire time. Guess that'll show me.

Can I kill a woman? You bet your ass I can. When she's out for my blood, I see her as one thing only. A target, the same way she sees me. Unfortunately, I've got nothing to fight back with. And I'm distracted by the silence from above, because it doesn't tell me if Wufei is all right or not.

I'll need to buy me some time while I figure out what to do.

"So, there's two of you, huh?" I ask conversationally.

Silence meets my question. She probably doesn't know what to make of me.

"Pretty smart of you," I continue. "You must have figured we'd try something like this."

"Be quiet!" She hisses. "You're just giving yourself away!"

A shot hits the wall too close to my head for comfort.

I slide farther to my right. Much more, however, and I'm going to be falling off another ledge. I'd rather not repeat that if I can help it. It wasn't fun.

"Rifles weren't made for such a close range. Otherwise, you're a fairly good shot."

If I could get her over here by me, I might be able to push her off the edge. Or, at least get her to fall with me. That's better than chancing she'll live, and get to Wufei. If he's still alive. No, I refuse to believe he's dead. He's stronger than that. And he wasn't the one that made the stupid mistake.

I think it's even worse, because I did it on purpose.

"So, you're from OZ, huh?"

Another shot.

Damn, I'm pushing it here.

"What's it to you?"

She's closer this time.

"I just want to know who's killing me, is all."

There's a glint. The moonlight reflected from the barrel. If I can gather up enough energy here, I might be able to launch myself at her.

"I suppose I can grant your dying wish. Yes, we're from OZ."

As I figured. Relena led them to us. If I live, I might have to let her know exactly what I think of that. If I die, I'll haunt her from Hell.

"Too afraid to take us on in our Gundams, huh? Well, can't blame you there."

There. I can make out a vague shape.

"Why you arrogant-"

Whatever she would have said, is cut off as a form leaps down from above. As startled as she is, I jerk back, wondering if I'm really in for it now, when the shape spins around so quickly I can't follow the movement. The next sound I hear is one of a gun hitting rock. The sniper stumbles out farther into the light as she takes another blow, and I see her clearly illuminated by the moon, balancing precariously on the edge. The last kick is to her chest. With a slight scream, she totters dangerously, and then slips, falling over the edge to disappear.

Sighing wearily, I fall against the wall. It looks like I won't need to jump her after all.

The shape turns away from the edge, walking over to me, to fall down on one knee.

"Hey, Wufei, you took all the fun out of it. We were just about to take a tumble over the edge."

"Idiot!" He snaps, the tension in his tone evident as he reaches out and grabs a hold of me.

The way he jerks me toward him is not exactly gentle.

I get a glimpse of a long, nasty cut down his neck and two across his chest, before he shoves his face so close to mine our noses are almost touching.

"So you met up with the other sniper, huh?" I ask him, staring into his eyes.

"Yes. He's dead."

He says it so coldly, so precisely.

"How come I got the woman?"

He ignores that. "I thought you were dead."

I shrug. "Yeah, me too."

"When you fell over the edge..."

Wufei looks rattled.

"Hey, it's like I always say, you can't kill Death. Maim it, break a few bones, yes, but not kill it."

I think something big is going on here. I just can't get past the pounding in my head or the aches that seem to be coming from everywhere to figure it out.

"You're a fool, Maxwell."

I grin stupidly. "I know."

And then he kisses me.

I say it so matter-of-fact, only because my brain is in shock.

It's so short, only the brushing of his lips against mine, that I can't get past my startlement long enough to kiss him back. But the warmth, the shock of desire stays with me, a tight knot of feelings in my stomach.

He moves away soon after, pulling me to my feet, and avoiding my eyes. I can't tell if he regrets it, or if he thought it was a mistake. I don't know what to say. This should be a good thing. But instead, I feel like a mess of nerves inside. I never expected that from Wufei. I wonder if it was only because he was glad I lived. I wonder if it meant anything at all to him. And yet, I can't say a damn thing, because the words won't come.

Instead, I let him help me up the cliff in silence. We stumble across the opening, leaning on each other for support. It's only now I notice Wufei's sling is lying at an odd angle. I'd suggest stopping to fix it, but I've now lost the use of one of my own arms. The bullet pretty much tore the hell out of my shoulder. It feels great, I tell you. Nothing like it in the world. I want to do it again some time.

Somehow, we make it back the way we came. Still, as we travel, we say nothing. I notice it seems to go faster this time. By the time we make it to our Gundams, I'm feeling somewhat faint. I'm not very big to begin with, and all this blood loss is stealing oxygen from my brain.

When Wufei drops me next to the rock, I lean against it, not minding that things are poking into my legs, or that I'm slouched over so that my good shoulder is touching the ground. My legs were starting to feel like rubber, and I almost didn't think I would make it the last few steps. So I'm happy to keep from moving. That's the only time you'll ever hear that from me.

Wufei sits down some distance from me, breathing heavily and looking as bad off as I feel. We stare at each other, still not speaking. Maybe he doesn't know what to say either. At the moment, as I close my eyes, I don't think it matters. Not yet. I can't think about it right now. What I want, is to go to sleep. To go to sleep and never wake up.

No, not death. I just want to sleep, dammit.

As I slip in and out of consciousness, I hear a sound on the edge of it. It sounds like a suit landing. Maybe OZ decided to try their luck this way after all. Well, they're in for a real fun time. They aren't going to get much of a fight out of us.

"What happened?"

That's not OZ. That's Heero.

I hear myself say, "You're late, Heero. You missed all the fun."

Strong hands force me to stand, and I sway.

"Hang on, Duo."

Was that Wufei, or Heero? I can't tell now.

When darkness rushes up to greet me, I embrace it, falling down with it as it envelops me completely.

Notes:  
[1] Gee, who knew that First Aid class would be so helpful. ^_~ And so soon after taking it even...

[2] If that thing around Wu's waist really isn't a sash, well, it is now! ^_^ I needed something, and since Duo's boots don't have laces, and I don't think vines would be very comfortable, this was all I had to work with.


	8. Chapter 8

The aroma of soup is what lures me from sleep.

Rolling slightly toward it, I wince as pain floods through various parts of my body. I'd almost forgotten about the ordeal in the forest. I suppose pleasant dreams will do that to you. If there wasn't the promise of food awaiting me, I think I'd probably go back to sleep. Because, when your head feels two sizes too big, the inside of your mouth is as dry as paper, and one side of your body is numb (leaving you to look forward to the sharp prick of needles when it finally wakes up), the world of the living just doesn't hold much appeal. But I'm hungry. No, scratch that, I'm ravenous.

Gingerly moving myself, ever aware of the shift of bandages against my bare skin, I find a more comfortable position without having actually opened my eyes yet. I'm saving that treat for last. There's nothing like the sudden flood of bright lights to snuff out the last remnants of sleep. Not, I suppose, that it matters much. I've already got a headache. Part from pain, and part from hunger. I must have been out of it for awhile, is all I can think. If I could brave opening my eyes, I could probably figure out just what time it is. Or, what day it is, as the case may be.

I don't think I've ever felt this weary. Not even when I've had mission after mission, with little to no sleep in between. For all that I must have got lying here, I sure as hell don't feel rested. Rather, I feel drug out, as if someone's idea of fun was to beat on various parts of my body with a hammer. I guess that's what happens when you fall headfirst off a cliff. It's a good thing I didn't __land__ on my head. I might not have been here to whine about my injuries otherwise. All that aside, I hope I'm not bedridden. I'll go crazy. I'll drive everyone crazy. I'll probably run away at the first sign of darkness.

Let's see... a busted shoulder; a nasty bullet scratch; a swelled, aching elbow; and a list of various other cuts and bruises scattered across every available inch of flesh and bone. I do believe I've set a record. And I wasn't even in Deathscythe when I got these injuries. Speaking of Deathscythe, I wonder how long it'll be before I can get to fixing him. I hate leaving him out there, not knowing what's up. Not that I'm going to be flying anywhere anytime soon. What a depressing thought that is. I just had to go and get myself shot and beat to hell. You think I would have learned my lesson by now.

Severe injuries equal no missions plus excessive amounts of boredom.

What an equation. And here I used to like math.

Maybe a break from missions would be nice. But not when you're stuck in bed as an alternative. Call me sadistic, but I happen to like missions. I don't __like__ killing people, but I like what each one accomplishes. Plus, I'm a 15 year old boy! I like explosives, guns, and other various things that go boom and create mass destruction. What can I say, it's in my blood, and it's a right of passage. Every teenage boy has to get his fill of action somewhere. I happen to get mine firsthand rather than video games and TV. Besides, unlike most, I've been around it all my life. I hate to say it, but it's a part of me. Death, violence, and war. Some days I think I'll never shake its shadow.

But it makes me tired, just thinking about it. Endless years of fighting. If you counted the number of lives I've been responsible for ending, I bet you'd have my entire lifetime up to this moment wrapped around a hundred times or more. See, I really am Shinigami. It isn't only arrogance, nor is it simply paying homage to the God of Death. I don't really even __like__ the God of Death. He and I just relate. Funny, how you have to take life to give life. That's war for you. A paradox in its own right. Fight to make peace. Lose so much to gain so much more. I wish it could be done some other way. But it can't.

The world is not made up of rational people. What one person sees one way, another sees another. It's always a constant fight, and I think politicians remind me of a bunch of big babies. Only rather than toys, they've got the lives of people in their hands every time they throw a tantrum. It makes me want to knock all their heads together. It seems no matter how many numbers you add to your age, you're still never mature enough. I'll be immature until the day I die. But I'm proud of my immaturity. It doesn't effect the entire world, and it never would. I'm not the type to get involved in a mess like politics. But the ones that do ought to exercise a bit more maturity.

Nope. I'm happy blowing things up. Let other people fight their battles on the political field. I'm fine just where I am.

Well, not at the moment, as I'm lying in a bed, still contemplating opening my eyes, and not even thinking about moving.

And back to my current predicament we go.

My mind works like a well oiled circle. Where I start, I eventually end up back there again at some point. I'm beginning to think I should have stayed asleep. Now that I'm awake, however, I need to get something to eat, something to drink, and take care of this headache. How I go about doing that in my present state, hasn't yet occurred to me. Maybe if I lay here long enough, someone will come along. Then again, maybe not. I don't even know where __here__ is.

Oh, joy. My side just woke up. I shift uncomfortably in an effort to alleviate the shock my skin gets from having the proper circulation return to it in such a short time. It's not helping. I think this is worse than having your foot fall asleep, then standing up suddenly only to fall flat on your face. And yes, that's happened to me. As luck would have it, right in front of Wufei. He didn't laugh, however. He just gave me one of those 'I think you're a retard' looks. Speaking of Wufei...

"How are you feeling?"

I jerk. Now that was another nice shock to my system.

When the voice processes, I realize it's Quatre. I have to smile. He takes such good care of us. I don't know where we'd be without him.

"Like shit. I hurt everywhere," I rasp, not at all surprised to find I sound like I swallowed a bunch of sand.

He laughs softly.

"I'm not surprised. You were really bad off. We were all worried."

I open one eye slowly. That hurts. The light feels like it's piercing right through my skull. Resisting the urge to groan, because it's not manly, I take a few slow breaths to adjust to the pressure behind my eyes. I've never had a headache quite like this before. Who knew it was such an effort just to open your eyes. I'm sweating now. I can feel the dampness across my forehead, and teasing at the back of my neck. I really hate sweating. It stems back to my childhood, to my almost obsessive need to be clean.

I used to do a lot of fighting when I was little. No big surprise there, huh? It had to do with me being an orphan, and thus being poor. When the Maxwell church took us all in, they sent us to a Federation school. I hated it there, because the kids constantly taunted us. If it wasn't the fact that I had no money, it was that I looked like a girl, or worse, I smelled. That was the last insult I could take. They weren't going to strip me of my pride, and plainly put, I wasn't taking anymore of their shit. So I beat the hell out of them. When it was all over, we all looked bad, but they looked worse. And boy, did I get in trouble.

But not from Sister Helen. Never from her. No matter what I did, she always loved me. I've never found a love like that since.

God, that hurts. Right in my chest. I think I'd rather take these physical injuries over the emotional ones any day.

It must have shown in my face, because Quatre says, "Don't overdo it, Duo. You're injured."

The sudden flashback that brings has me laughing, then grimacing as the act increases the pounding in my head and disturbs my other injuries, especially my ribs. Bruised or cracked. I can't tell which, but the way it hurts to just breath is enough to make me want to cry. But I smile a little still. Quatre's words were so similar to the ones I spoke to Heero as I was taking chunks of his flesh with my pistol that first time we met. We've come so far since then. It's strange looking back. All things have to start somewhere, but they never go like you expect them to.

"Quatre..." I say faintly, finding it some effort to even speak.

"Yes?" He's over by the bed now.

He's so damned nice. Only he would spend all this time in here, waiting for me to wake up. I never realized until meeting these guys how much I wanted someone to care for me. I had gone so long without anything but the clothes on my back and my pride. I moved around constantly, some part of me knowing that I couldn't get too attached to one way of life or it would perish. I'm afraid of that still. But these pilots... they're strong. And that makes all the difference.

Some of the tension seeps from my body and I relax into the mattress.

"Duo?"

Quatre. I almost forgot.

"Is that soup I smell?" I ask hopefully.

I've forced both my eyes open now and I can faintly make him out, a soft blur at the foot of my bed.

He laughs again. "Yes. It's dinner time."

Dinner time? I must have been asleep the rest of last night and well into today.

"Any chances of me getting some? I'm starving... and I have a killer headache."

"Aspirin and soup, coming right up," he answers cheerfully.

I can see him clearly now. He's a nice sight for tired, aching eyes.

"Quatre?"

He pauses by the door.

I'm almost afraid to ask. "How's Wufei?'

Something crosses his face that raises little alarm bells in me.

I struggle to sit up. I damn near make it. Didn't know I had it in me.

"Something didn't happen to him, did it?" I demand, knowing I sound worried, but not caring.

Quatre shakes his head, but that kind, almost sad look remains.

"He sat with you all night and some of today. He refused to rest himself."

I'm stunned. No, I'm not being sarcastic. I'm serious. I can't believe Wufei sat with me all that time, being injured himself. It's so unlike him. Yet, remembering the kiss, I wonder. Does he care more than he lets on? Have I been blind this entire time? Wufei... saving my ass. Spending the day with me. Helping me study. Walking me to breakfast. Volunteering to go with me when Deathscythe went out.

I fall back down on the pillow. I hadn't realized.

Turning my face back to Quatre, I ask, "Where is he?"

Now he looks uncomfortable.

I frown. Boy, that hurts. Everything hurts.

"Quatre?"

"He left, Duo."

Left? "As in took Nataku and left for good?"

He nods.

The disappointment I feel is instantaneous and overwhelming. A different kind of pain. That damn emotional pain again. I can't know why he left, but my mind still turns to the kiss and I wonder if the reaction I gave was the wrong one. Did I screw this chance I had up? This one I didn't even want to take? Why is it, I lose everyone I care for in one way or another...

"Did he... say where he was going?"

"No. He said... he had things he needed to do."

My mask is in place. I feel it sliding in to cover the way I feel, to gloss over the hurt.

Smiling though it nearly kills me, I say, "I hope he's well off enough to fly."

"Duo..."

Don't, Quatre. Don't use that tone and sympathize with me. I feel too fragile, and I might break. I've got to hold on to my pride. It's all I have left. I'm a mess, and though I love you like a brother, I don't want to lose myself in front of you.

Quatre smiles, as if he can read my mind. "I'll go get that soup and aspirin."

"Thank you, Quatre. You're a good person." And I mean it for more than just getting me soup.

"So are you, Duo," he says, before slipping from the room.

I stare at the door. I don't feel like a good person. I don't think I ever have.

I guess I shouldn't be surprised. Wufei likes his solitude. Some time together, and one kiss isn't going to change that. I don't think he's any more ready for it than I am. And I think he's haunted by something in his past. Like me. I hate to think he ran away from me. But I'll deal. It's not like I have any other choice.

"We have a lot to work through, you and me, Wu... we're both more screwed up than we let on."

Sighing, I let my head loll to the side and examine the bandages on my shoulder. Guess the bullet missed bone. That makes me happy. I'll heal faster. It passed clean through too, which means the wound will heal easier without the bullet needing to be pulled out. Let's just say I don't want to imagine that. I'm sure, however, this doesn't make Heero happy. With me injured and Wufei gone, he doesn't have so many people to boss around anymore.

I'm trying to be big about this. I could be mad at Wufei, for tugging at my emotions like that and then taking off. But I don't have the energy, and I don't want to be angry with him. Not when I understand. Whatever happened between us, it wouldn't be shallow. I'd hate to have him use me as a crutch, and I never want to depend on someone that way. Maybe he's scared that's what it'll turn out to be. Maybe he's worried that in the middle of this war, an affair between us will be only a means to cope. I don't want that anymore than he does.

I never realized it before, but maybe the reason I never let Heero know how I felt, was because I didn't want it to be cheap. I wanted him to be someone I could love. But he wasn't. Maybe Wufei isn't either. I don't want to find out this way. So it's better that he left, before I became too attached to him, before we made a mistake. But you know what? We could both be wrong. And I think that's what scares me most of all.

I must have fallen asleep.

The room is dark now, bathed only in moonlight from a window with half-drawn curtains. The house itself is silent, which tells me everyone else is sleeping. I lay still for a while, listening to my own breathing. I feel rested now, better since I got something to eat and something to kill the pain. It's enough so that I'm wanting to get out of bed and walk around a bit. It's not like I really need to be in here. If I'm careful, I won't disturb my wounds all that much.

Pushing the covers aside with my good arm, I slowly lower my legs over the edge of the bed, rising carefully to a sitting position. My back feels so tender, I think the slightest touch would send me screaming. If I was able to look at it, I bet it would be entirely black or purple, whichever nasty stage of bruising it thought to take on. The true test comes now, when I stand up as carefully as I can, so as not to send myself toppling back down again. The room sways slightly, but I remain on my feet. I think I'll be okay.

Shuffling across the floor, I stop at the window, looking out. We're in some kind of house or something, I suppose. It doesn't really matter. If Heero secured it, we're safe enough. He probably scouted the whole area and interviewed the neighbors, if there even are neighbors. That's one thing to be said for him. He's very thorough. Almost to the point where he's obsessive. Oh well. We all have our little oddities. We won't even get into mine. By now, I figure you've found them all out.

It's a nice night. Clear, and peaceful. It calls to me. If I could, I'd go for a walk. Unlike some, I like the dark. We're kindred spirits, much like the God of Death and I. There's something about the stillness of it, the soundlessness, that calms me. There's less people out, and it's almost as if you could have the entire night all to yourself. It's deceptive that way.

Turning away from the window, something catches my eye. It's draped over the end of the bed. When I get there, I grasp it, holding it up. It's Wufei's sash. He must have forgotten it. Or maybe he left it on purpose.

"Leaving a piece of yourself behind, Wu?" I murmur. "That's bad luck. You're going to have to come back now, you know..."

Smiling faintly, I tuck it into the pocket of the pajama bottoms I'm wearing. I won't even ask who got me dressed. It was probably Quatre. But if it wasn't... I don't want to think about it.

Since I'm suddenly attacked by the urge to get something to drink, I leave my room behind, navigating my way blindly to what I hope is the kitchen. It's a bit difficult to orient yourself to a new place for the first time in the dark. But I don't bother taking a tour. I'm too sore, and besides, I don't know how long we're even going to be here. Or if we're even going to leave together when we __do__ leave. Maybe we're getting too used to being together. Getting attached is a bad idea. Heero'd tell you it leads to being a poor soldier. After all, caring makes you weak, gives you a liability.

And I say too damn bad.

Opening the fridge proves to be fun, when I forget about my shoulder and try to do it with my injured arm. After some interesting cursing, I finally get into it and pull out a soda. I down half the can in one go, and then begin the trek back to my room, almost running Heero down in the process. Not that I could do much damage, considering I'm not going that fast.

"Duo. Why are you out of bed?"

Rather than answer, I hold the soda up.

He continues to stare at me, with that piercing, 'I can see into your soul, sinner' look.

"What're you doing up?" I finally say, opting for conversation.

"I heard you."

I blink. "Pretty impressive. Were you sound asleep?"

"No." Is all he says, before he brushes past me and opens the fridge.

Heero never ceases to amaze me. He wears the same thing to bed that he does when he isn't in uniform. Tank top and spandex shorts. He's evidently very much into conservation.

"Deathscythe is repaired."

"What?" I ask stupidly. He touched my Gundam? Visions of what happened __last__ time Heero touched my Gundam dance through my head.

"I repaired your Gundam."

Hey, he called my Gundam by its name. I think I need to sit down. My brain isn't keeping up with this conversation in the proper order.

"You, ah, didn't happen to use the parts from someone else's Gundam to do that, did you?"

He turns to look at me. And I swear by all that is Holy, he smiles at me.

"Heero... are you sick?"

"Of course not."

His usual expression is back in place.

"Well then..." I pause awkwardly. "Thanks."

He grunts, brushing past me again with a glass of ice water in his hand.

Now there's the Heero I'm used to.

Remaining where I am, I stare dumbly at the door he walked through for a few seconds. I don't think I'll ever understand him. Hell, I consider wearily, as I seat myself at the kitchen table instead of walking back to my room, I don't think I'll ever understand myself.

Reaching into my pocket, I pull out Wufei's sash and finger it. Heero and Wufei. Two walking enigmas. But decent, worthwhile guys. Maybe I'll never get close to them. It's hard to say. I've got a lot of life ahead of me. Anything can, and does happen. One day...

"Take care... and good luck," I whisper, staring at the sash.

But never good-bye. Because good-bye is final, and I know Wufei and I will meet up again.


End file.
